


Chasing Ghosts

by Dendritic_Trees



Series: Hurt/Comfort Garbage Pile [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Apologies, Bathing/Washing, Constructive Criticism Welcome, Conversations, Crying, Drawing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Food, Gen, Group Sleeping, Hugging, Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort Garbage Pile, Illnesses, Insomnia, Kisses, Medical Examination, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Not Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie) Compliant, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Panic Attacks, Reading, Shaving, Sheep, Steve being a mother hen, Vomiting, accidental violence, effects of brainwashing, gift-giving, gratuitous hurt/comfort, putting to bed, totally gratuitious, vaguely consentual medication
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:50:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 35,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dendritic_Trees/pseuds/Dendritic_Trees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve had been looking for Bucky for months.  He hadn't got as far as figuring out what he'd do if he actually found him.  And now he's here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Finding the Ghost

“Let’s go find out what the ghost wants,” Steve had said to Natasha, and they’d left to hunt a ghost and overthrow a government agency.   

It had been three months since SHIELD dissolved, and Steve was still chasing the same ghost.  And not having much luck. There was a constant stream of rumours, the occasional photo of a figure with a left arm that glinted silver (and a few times Steve had seen him himself), but wherever Bucky was going, or whatever he was doing, Steve always seemed to be three steps behind and headed in the wrong direction.

So Steve just kept running down every lead he could get his hands on, no matter how tenuous, because he had to find Bucky, because if he didn’t what was the rest of it all for, and if he stopped looking he’d have to think about that.

He put so much effort into focusing on his latest batch of Hydra intel from Fury to the exclusion of all else that he didn’t even noticed that _Bucky was sitting on the pavement by his door_ until he was about two feet away and only then because Bucky jerked backwards like someone had electrocuted him.

“Oh God,” Steve gasped, stepping backwards, “oh God.  Bucky?  Bucky its okay. Oh God.  Oh God.”

Bucky slumped back against the wall and coughed fitfully. It had been raining on and off all day, and he was sopping wet, his clothes were clinging to his skin. There was nothing to suggest that he even heard Steve.

Steve took a very slow, very careful step forward and crouched down in front of where Bucky was sitting.  “Bucky,” he said again, “Bucky?  Can you hear me? Bucky?  Please?  Please look at me.”

Bucky looked up at the request, and stared dully at Steve, or, at least, in Steve’s general direction.  His eyes were glassy, and Steve hoped desperately that his pupils were just responding the rapidly fading evening light.  But he couldn’t think about that right now.  He couldn’t think at all actually.  “Hey there,” he murmured, shifting a bit closer to Bucky, “hey Bucky, you okay there?” he was obviously not, but what else is there to say.  Bucky didn’t respond, he just kept looking in the same vaguely Steve-ward direction.  “Do you want to come inside?”  Nothing. “Bucky?  Bucky, can you stand up?  C’mon now, lets go inside, find you some dry clothes.” He held his hand out to help Bucky up. Or possibly stop him if he bolted, he actually wasn’t sure.

Bucky cringed away from his hand, but he pulled himself up against the side of the building and followed Steve inside.  He made it over the threshold and more or less got his boots off under his own power, while Steve forced himself to stay at arm’s length, and then abruptly dissolved into another coughing fit.  It was poorly timed.  Bucky was still partly bent down and if Steve hadn’t knelt down and caught him he would have ended up lying on the muddy floor of Steve’s entranceway. That didn’t seem to register with Bucky who struggled while Steve lifted him up and steered him into a chair in the kitchen, whispering “sorry, Bucky, I’m sorry, its okay, I won’t hurt you, I’m sorry.”

The cough seemed worse than it had outside.  Harsher.  Bucky just slumped in the chair Steve had deposited him in, jerking a little with the force of it, with his brows drawn together, like he couldn’t quite figure out what was happening to him.  He didn’t make any attempt to take the glass of water Steve held out to him. Steve came and knelt in front of him, still holding the glass out to him.  “Please drink some water Buck, it’ll help, I promise, please. Please.”

Bucky looked hazily down at Steve and didn’t respond.  They stayed like that for what felt like a very long time, but was probably more like a minute until Steve couldn’t take it any more, and reached out and held the glass up to Bucky’s lips. Bucky lashed out the second the water touched his mouth, kicking Steve straight backwards hard enough that Steve collided with the wall and tipping the chair he was in over backwards.

When Steve picked himself up, Bucky hadn’t gone very far, he had backed himself into a corner in the back of the kitchen, with his knees drawn up to his chest and his hands tangled in his hair.  As soon as Steve started moving towards him, picking his way around the broken glass on the floor, Bucky moaned desperately.  It was the first voluntary sound Steve had heard him make, it was low and hollow and Steve would have preferred it if he’d screamed.  So Steve backed out of the room and left him be.

Bucky went quiet as soon as Steve was out of his sight, which actually made Steve feel worse.  And the Winter Soldier file Natasha had given him was still lying on a table in the hall where he’d dumped it the last time he’d headed out on a mission.  Steve hated every molecule of that file, but he grabbed it anyway and leafed through it frantically because there had to be something in it somewhere that would give him an alternative to leaving his best friend lying alone and wet and cold and scared on his kitchen floor.

The word ‘ice-water’ caught Steve’s eye, in a set of documents about cryo-storage that he’d read once (he’d read it all) and left alone, because the descriptions made his head spin, made him taste salt water in the back of his throat.   Ice-water.  They’d poured ice-water into Bucky’s stomach to cool him down for cryo-freeze.  And Steve had just tipped cold water into his mouth.

Steve didn’t throw up, but it was a near thing, “oh no, no. Bucky, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, with one hand pressed over his mouth. Warmth.  If he could just get Bucky warmed up it would all be better, Steve was sure of it. 

But that didn’t stop Bucky from keening desperately when he came back into the kitchen. When Steve knelt down next to him he cringed.  Steve sat back on his heels and tried not to burst into tears.  “Its okay Bucky, I’m not gonna hurt you,” (but that was a lie because he had), “I won’t hurt you, let’s just, uh, let’s just get you cleaned up a little okay? How’s that sound?” Bucky didn’t respond to the question, he just stared at Steve through his hair.  He cringed away again when Steve reached out to help him up.  Steve pulled his own hand away nearly as fast in response, “I’m sorry,” he gasped, “I won’t hurt you.  I’m not gonna hurt you.  Come on now, stand up.”

At that, Bucky staggered jerkily upright and turned to face Steve with no expression at all on his face.  He was trembling slightly all over which made Steve worry a little that he might end up right back on the floor in short order from sheer exhaustion, but it could easily just have been from cold, or chills, he looked flushed, despite the layers of sodden clothing he was wearing.  He followed Steve into the bathroom placidly enough, but he was barely through the door when he pressed himself into a corner and started to sob again.

The only saving grace of the situation, if you could call it that, was that at least this time Steve had some vague notion of what could be bothering him. “Its okay,” he said clearly, “its just warm water, it’s going to help you get warmed up, I promise.”

Bucky gave no indication of having heard him.  He just stood there, shaking and gasping and whimpering a little with each exhaled breath.  He got a bit louder when Steve actually turned the shower on, but he still didn’t move and nothing Steve could think of to say seemed to have any effect whatsoever. However much he obviously didn’t like the water he still didn’t resist when Steve picked up his hand, and held it balanced in his open palm under the spray. 

As soon as the water hit his hand Bucky turned to look at it with a sort of desperate confusion.  Steve put Bucky’s hand back down carefully by his side and he immediately stuck it back into the warm water.

It was something.

“Okay now Buck?” Steve asked hesitantly.  “Alright?  Get in the shower now, okay?”

Bucky shuddered slightly all over, like he was turning on and started undressing.  Still with the same expression, wide-glassy eyes and slightly slack around the mouth.

Steve and Bucky had both seen each other undress a lot of times, and it shouldn’t have been awkward or even unusual for Bucky to undress in front of him, but Steve looked away, vaguely horrified.  Nothing about Bucky suggested he was acting out of comfort. He had moved away from the wall a bit and stood there, shoulders slumped forward, clumsily navigating zippers and buttons and letting his clothes drop into a pile at his feet. He was swaying a bit and Steve considered trying to get him to lie down in the bath instead of standing, but discarded the idea.  He made himself look Bucky over, once he was standing in the shower.  Apart from having lost weight since Steve had last seen him, he looked okay.  He wasn’t bleeding. The shoulder that Steve could vividly remember dislocating had been reset.

Bucky shifted a bit to get as much of himself under the water as possible and then seemed content to just stand there in the damp heat.  Steve eventually got some soap and a washcloth and swiped it gently over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky went rigid, but he didn’t do anything to stop Steve.  He didn’t do anything at all.  His shoulder wasn’t swollen, the joint felt stable under Steve’s hand.  Had he put it back himself?  The thought of Bucky alone and in pain and trying to force his injured shoulder back into its socket made Steve wanted to grab onto Bucky and cling, but he made himself keep his distance, keep his hands steady, stop his face from crumpling.

Bucky seemed to rouse a bit as Steve gently scrubbed the grime off his shoulder and upper arm.  He reached out and took the cloth out of Steve’s hand and continued cleaning himself off.

“That’s right Buck,” encouraged Steve.  “That’s really good.  I’m going to go and find you some clean clothes, okay?”

Steve kept his eyes on Bucky as he backed out of the room, but Bucky didn’t look at him.

 

Once he was outside the bathroom, Steve cried, muffling the sound into the cuff of his shirtsleeve and not bothering to try to stop himself from shaking. He scrubbed at his eyes while he rifled through his chest of drawers and pulled out a dry shirt and some clothes for Bucky.  They looked like they’d be a bit loose, but they’d be warm and, he hoped they’d be comfortable.

 

He hadn’t heard any noise while he’d been out of the room, but when he got back into the bathroom Bucky was sitting down with his arms wrapped around his knees. His skin was clean, but he’d evidently made no attempt to wash his hair, which was still hanging in tangled clumps around his face. 

Steve stuck his hand quickly under the water, it was still warm, but that wouldn’t last forever, and if Bucky got doused in cold water now, it would be catastrophic.  Bucky still hadn’t looked up, so Steve knelt down so they would be on the same level. “Bucky?” he asked, but Bucky still didn’t respond.  Just stared down at his knees.  Steve reached over and grabbed a bottle of shampoo and held it out, “Bucky, you need to finish getting clean okay? Then you can rest for a bit. Do you – do you need some help?”

When Steve reached out towards him he tensed and grimaced, but as Steve swiped his fingers slowly through Bucky’s hair, he actually relaxed infinitesimally, and leant ever so slightly into Steve’s hand.  He kept it up, leaning ever so slightly in the direction of Steve’s fingers while Steve combed shampoo through his hair, and then wiped stray bubbles away from his face while it rinsed out. 

The hot water wasn’t infinite and as soon as it started to cool off Steve turned it off and draped a towel around Bucky’s shoulders.  Bucky stood up and stepped out of the shower without prompting and dressed himself when Steve handed him the pile of clothing, still staring vacantly into the middle distance.  And then he just stood there, swaying a bit and shivering on and off.

Steve draped a towel back around Bucky’s shoulders to sop up the water dripping from his hair.  Even though a t-shirt and one of Steve’s hoodies he felt warmer than could be explained by the hot shower.  Steve opened the bathroom cabinet, and then shut it again.  He didn’t even have any aspirin on hand.  Stupid.  Useless. “Wanna lie down for a bit?” he asked Bucky. Bucky didn’t answer, but he also didn’t resist when Steve put a hand against his back and steered him out into the hall. 

The steam from the bathroom must have been easing Bucky’s cough a bit because they made it about three steps into the hall before he had another coughing fit. It was the sort of wet, hacking cough that Steve knew from experience was both painful and exhausting and by the time Bucky had caught his breath again he was leaning against the wall with his metal arm wrapped around his chest and he still cringed when Steve took a step towards him and wouldn’t let Steve touch or steady him again.

The house had two bedrooms.  When Sam had asked he had very loudly yammered something unconvincing about light and easels. The second room was for Bucky and Steve knew it and Sam had too, but he’d been so consumed with looking for Bucky that the second room was barely furnished and at this point, probably covered in a layer of dust.  Stupid.

Bucky followed Steve into his bedroom, but Steve had to herd him over to the bed and even with Steve prompting him he sat down on the edge of the bed instead of getting into it properly. 

“Okay,” said Steve, when it became apparent that Bucky wasn’t going to lie down, “that’s okay.  You just get comfortable.  I’m going to get you some water.  Just rest here.”

When Steve returned with a plastic cup full of warm water Bucky was still sitting perfectly still on the edge of his bed. 

Steve didn’t try and make Bucky drink again, because that had been an insane, stupid thing to do in retrospect.  Instead he knelt down again, so he was about level with Bucky and rested the glass against his good hand.  The plastic was warm, and Bucky took the cup and clutched it against his chest.

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice broke and it came out as a squeak. He tried again, “Drink that slowly now.”

Bucky obeyed mechanically, bringing the glass back down and resting it against his chest between sips.  He kept doing it, even when the glass was obviously empty, and stared reproachfully at Steve, when reached out and took it away.

“Are you still cold?” Steve asked, thinking of the way Bucky had clung to the source of warmth.  He set the glass down on the bedside table, pulled pile of blankets out of the cupboard and set them on the bed next to Bucky.  “Here. I’m going to get you some more water.”

When he came back Bucky had shifted back properly onto the bed and wrapped himself in all of the blankets Steve had left.  He was rubbing the edge of one of the blankets between the fingers of his good hand, seemingly preoccupied by the texture of the fluffy microfibre.

“That’s, ah, its pretty good, huh?” Steve said, because the silence was oppressive. “Here, have some more to drink. I was cold just all the time, just after they thawed me out.  Didn’t matter what I did.  I used to just curl up under piles of those.  It’s, uh, gotten better. I have more if you need them, I still remember what its like, with the chills.”    

Bucky didn’t answer, but he took the glass back and drank it and let Steve take it and refill it a few more times without fuss, before he seemed to lose interest.  He slumped back against the headboard and wouldn’t take the glass back out of Steve’s hand. Steve took that to mean he’d had enough to drink.  He set the glass down on the bedside table, still in Bucky’s line of sight, and draped the comforter over him.

“Okay,” he murmured, “I’m gonna let you get some rest now. I’ll be right outside if you need anything at all Buck.”  And then he sat on the floor and didn’t move until Bucky’s eyes eventually fluttered shut. Bucky fought to keep them open, clearly not wanting to sleep, but it still only took him a few minutes.

Even asleep, Bucky looked tense, and he was still shivering and coughing fitfully. Steve was irrationally terrified to look away from him, even though he knew he was more likely to disturb Bucky’s rest by lurking than he was to help.

 

Steve did manage to pry himself away from Bucky.  He cleaned up the broken glass on the kitchen floor. Bucky’s wet clothes were still in a pile on the bathroom floor.  Steve gathered them up and threw them in the washing machine.  They were filthy and tattered and honestly didn’t look like they would make it through the entire wash cycle without falling to bits, but it didn’t feel right to throw away Bucky’s things without asking him first. He stuck his head around the door, when he was finished tidying up, but Bucky was the same as he had been a few minutes earlier; shivering in his sleep.  It took Steve three tries to phone Sam without immediately hanging up. What he tried to say, when he managed to actually make his call, was “Sam – Sam, Bucky’s here and he’s sick and I need help.” But he wasn’t entirely sure how much of that he got out.

 

Bucky managed nearly an hour and a half of sleep before he thrashed himself awake. When Steve went to untangle him from his blankets he got smacked into the wall for his trouble. “Bucky,” he panted, from where Bucky’s forearm had connected with his chest, “Bucky its okay, its just a nightmare.”

Bucky was still struggling with the bedding.  He looked at Steve when he spoke, with some sort of awareness, but nothing that, even by Steve’s hopeful standards, could be called recognition.

“Bucky –“ Steve tried again.

But Bucky just made an odd choked-off little moaning noise, and tumbled off the other side of the bed.  By the time Steve picked himself up and made his way around to the other side of the bed Bucky was backed into the corner between the chest of drawers and the wall. Curled up, with his knees against his chest and his arms wrapped around his head. 

He looked pitiful and he seemed utterly beyond comfort, curling up tighter and sobbing when Steve approached him.  Steve settled onto the floor an arm’s length and a half away and just started yammering because it was the only thing he could think of to do.  Telling Bucky where he was and what the date was and that everything was going to be okay.  But Bucky didn’t calm down so much as he tired out.  Eventually he slumped down limply, sprawled against the dresser. He didn’t resist when Steve looped an arm around his chest, tugged him to his feet, and steered him back into bed, but he didn’t really cooperate either, although he nestled back into his disorganized pile of blankets readily enough, and started stroking them with his good hand again, like they were a small animal he was trying to soothe. Steve hoped it was comforting for him, because he was still staring warily at Steve like he expected to be hit, obviously bothered by Steve’s presence. 

Steve knelt down, still a foot away, tried to look as small and harmless as he possibly could and whispered, “I’m going to go now.  I’m going to be right outside that door,” he pointed, “just call out if you need anything.  Anything at all.”

Bucky didn’t make a single sound as he left.

Steve sat in his living room and stared at his hands, straining to hear anything. Any sound that might indicate that Bucky needed him.  The first thing he heard was his phone, vibrating against the cushions where he’d abandoned it. He fumbled for it frantically. It was a text from Sam: _I’m right outside._ Of course Sam would have the presence of mind not to ring the doorbell and risk startling anyone.  Sam would know what to do.


	2. Not A Real Doctor

Sam had spent the entire trip over to Steve’s new place generating a list of worst case scenarios.  All he’d gotten from Steve’s phone call was ‘Bucky’ and ‘help’ and a lot of poorly suppressed snivelling. And snivelling was not Steve’s style. So he imagined everything from Steve bleeding out onto the carpet to the whole place on fire and then phoned Natasha before getting into his car, because that was the only backup he could think of.

The smallish house Steve had rented instead of going back to his shot up downtown apartment was sort of oddly positioned, which made it unappealing to normal renters but to Sam, and so, probably also to Steve screamed damage control and not having to worry that the guy shooting at you was going to hit your neighbours.  And no matter how much Steve denied it, it was a good sort of hidey-hole to stash your dead best friend turned brainwashed assassin.  From the outside it looked about the same as it had the last time he had been there.  But ‘no gross structural damage’ was a pretty low bar. 

Natasha had said she’d leave immediately on the phone, but she hadn’t shown up yet, and Sam briefly considered waiting for her but decided that given how bad Steve had sounded on the phone faster help would probably be better, and only stopped long enough to collect his nerves and the first aid kit from the trunk of his car before texting Steve to let him know that he’d arrived.

Steve answered the door quickly, and he looked fine, except that Sam was afraid to look at him too hard in case he actually burst into tears. “Hey man,” Sam said, in the calmest voice he had. 

Steve just frowned a little harder and opened the door all the way so he could get inside.  Steve’s house was totally silent except for the hum of what sounded like a washing machine. His living room was tidier than Sam’s. After all the doomsday scenarios he’d concocted on the way over Sam could feel unneeded adrenaline draining out of his blood.  It was a tiring sign he’s spent more time than he should have assaulting Hydra bases in the last few months, but from Steve’s deepening frown it still put him at the end of the queue as far as psychological triage was concerned.  “Are you alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Steve squeaked, “its Bucky, he’s – he’s –“ and then he stalled out.

“Is Bucky still here?” Sam asked.  This was okay, they were now squarely back in the field of things he knew how to handle.

Steve nodded, gulped and took a very shaky deep breath before he answered, “he’s lying down.”  He led Sam down the hall and peered gingerly around his bedroom door before opening it so Sam could see inside.

Bucky, or maybe the Winter Soldier, Sam wasn’t quite prepared to take Steve’s word for it, was curled up under a pile of blankets in Steve’s bed, shivering and twitching in his sleep.  Most of what was visible was just a sheet of tangled brown hair.  He looked a bit fragile, and oddly small, but he didn’t seem to be in or causing any immediate danger, and he didn’t look sick enough for Steve to panic over.  Although as soon as he had that thought Sam immediately that Steve panicking was probably inevitable. Put like that it seemed like a blessing he didn’t have two panicky super-soldiers to look after.

Sam took a step back and pulled the door shut again. “Let’s leave him to sleep,” he suggested very quietly, “and you can talk me through this, okay?”

He walked Steve out to the couch and then went and got him a glass of water. “Okay, fill me in a little bit man, can you tell me what happened?”

Steve made a few snuffling noises, took a gulp of his water, and gave same a short and somewhat wet summary of what had happened.  “He hasn’t said anything.  I – I just cleaned him up and put him to bed.  I didn’t know what to do.  He was all wet, I couldn’t just…”

It occurred to Sam, as Steve trailed off, that Steve was apologizing. It took him a minute to put it together. That Steve must have undressed Bucky to clean him up, and that he felt bad about it.  “It sounds like you made the right call,” he said.

Steve’s mouth twitched, somewhere between a smile and a grimace. “He – he’s sick. Coughing. If its pneumonia -”

“I’m sure he’ll be fine,” Sam cut in, “we’ve got lots of great drugs for pneumonia these days.”

“You’ll have a look at him?” Steve asked plaintively.

“Steve, man, I’m not a doctor.  I was just a paramedic,” Sam cautioned.

“Please?” said Steve.

“Yeah, sure, okay,” Sam relented.

 

Natasha let herself in silently, while they sat there.  Sam saw her as she walked up behind Steve and put an arm around his shoulders.  “I heard you found your ghost,” she murmured.

Steve leant back against her and nodded against her stomach, not questioning how she knew, or how she’d got inside.  “He’s resting,” he mumbled.

Natasha met Sam’s eyes over Steve’s head and frowned, while she stroked her fingers through Steve’s hair.  “And has he done anything else?” she asked, “said anything?  Or did he just slip in here like a little stray cat?”

Her voice had some edges in it, but Steve ignored them, or he didn’t notice. He twisted around to look earnestly up at Natasha and said, “yeah,” he said, “he was just here when I got home. He hasn’t said anything. He’s not really – not really – not,” he trailed off with a useless little flap of his hands, which didn’t really sum anything up.

“And he’s not tried to hit you either?” Natasha asked, just a little bit more sharply.

Steve didn’t actually move, but Sam could see him shut down, “no, no, nothing like that,” he said in a rush.

“Really?” Natasha said evenly. 

Steve hunched forward and pouted.  “He’s not violent.”

Sam leant forward to look Steve in the eye.  “Steve,” he said, “we know Bucky’s not himself.  But man, I’m not a super-soldier.  If I get tossed through a wall its not going to make any difference if its an accident.”

Steve nodded, and snuffled, “couple of times.  Only when I startled him.  He looked really scared.”

“Thank you,” said Sam.

Natasha pulled him back and stroked his hair again.  “It’ll be okay Steve,” she murmured, “its going to be okay.”

 

Bucky eventually woke up coughing and flailing. It was miserable to watch and Sam was sure it must have been worse for Steve.  But, eventually Bucky caught his breath and settled, sitting forward with his forearms resting on his legs.  Steve edged around the side of the bed to kneel next to Bucky.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, “Bucky, hey?  Bucky?”

Bucky, or maybe it was the Soldier, looked hazily over at Steve, like he couldn’t bring his face into focus.  “I knew you.”

Steve beamed, leaning up towards Bucky.  “Yeah,” he breathed, “yeah you do. You do know me.”

“I knew you,” Bucky repeated.  He still looked hazy and vacant.

“That’s right,” said Steve, with a small nod and big, watery smile.

“I knew you.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s smile wavered, and Sam could see his throat bob. “Bucky, this is Sam,” said Steve, pointing. “He’s a medic. Can he have a look at you and see about your cough?  Is that okay?”

“I knew you,” Bucky said again.

He was so insistent about it that Sam wondered if there was something else he was trying to communicate, but couldn’t manage.  But he smiled calmly and moved forward with his hands out. “Hello Bucky,” he said, “I’m Sam. Can I come over there?”

Bucky managed to move his eyes from Steve’s face to Sam’s, with effort, like his eyeballs were weighted.  He didn’t say anything and he really didn’t look particularly present and there was a whole catalogue of ways Sam could think for the whole situation to end in tears, but he came around and sat on the end of the bed.  “Are you having any trouble breathing?” he asked, very evenly. “You can just shake your head, or nod if it’s hard to talk.”

Bucky shook his head minutely.  It wasn’t much.  It was also the best attempt at communication he’d made so far.  “That’s good to hear.  May I take your hand, I need to take your pulse.  Your right hand,” he remembered to specify.

Bucky held it out limply, and without making eye contact.

“Thank you,” said Sam, “ I’m going to take hold of your wrist now, just for a minute to take your pulse.”

Bucky said nothing, and did nothing.  Sam reached out very slowly and put his hand on Bucky’s wrist as gently as he could, to give him as many opportunities to pull away as he could. He didn’t take any of them.  Sam almost wished he would.  “Well, that seems alright,” he said as he put Bucky’s hand back down, and fished a stethoscope out of his bag.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked Bucky, who gave no discernable response, although Steve cringed a bit. 

“I’m just going to listen to your breathing.  Make sure you’re okay.  Can you take your sweater off please?”  He asked.

Bucky looked up through his eyelashes and shrugged out of the hoodie he was wearing so it slide off his shoulders to pool around his elbows.

“Thank you,” said Sam, “okay, now, do you see this,” he held out the stethoscope, “I’m just going to rest this against your chest.  It won’t hurt.”

He moved very slowly when he rested his stethoscope against Bucky’s chest. “Take a deep breathe in, and then out.”

Bucky went very still and stiff when Sam rested the Stethoscope against his chest.  And it took a few short hitching gasps before he managed to take a proper breath. He could have just been trying not to cough, but it sounded more like his breath was catching in his throat. But he did manage to sit through the exam and he didn’t freak out.  Which Sam figured was as much as he could ask for.

“Thank you,” said Sam, “I’m done now.” 

Bucky didn’t move, or shift his gaze. 

Natasha, who had been lurking in the doorway up to that point, stepped forward and said, “Put your sweater back on and lie back down,” slow and clear.

Bucky turned to look at her, tugged his sweater back up over his shoulders and then flopped backwards like he’d been switched off.

Steve immediately leant forward and started fussing with the pillows, piling them up so that Bucky was propped up against the headboard. “Sit up a bit okay,” he said, “you’ll be more comfortable.”

Sam could see Bucky panic as soon as Steve said the words ‘sit up’, like the conflicting advice was too much for him to manage.   He started to pant and shudder.  His eyes ricocheted between Steve and Natasha. Steve immediately reached out immediately as if to take his hand, or maybe stroke his hair back, before he seemed to remember that Bucky wouldn’t find that comforting in his present state and wound up with his hands out, fluttering over Bucky’s shoulder. Natasha just said, “that’s fine. That’s acceptable.”

Bucky gave one last shudder and relaxed. 

Natasha turned to Steve, “can we have a minute?” she asked, pointedly.

Steve was still kneeling by the bed, reaching out for Bucky. Sam held his hand out and Steve grabbed it and clutched it against his chest with both of his and Sam steered him out of the room.   

“How’s he doing?” Steve asked Sam’s feet. 

“Well talking has to be a good sign right?” said Sam.

Steve looked up with a grimace, that might have been intended as a smile. He was still hanging onto Sam’s hand, “How – how bad’s that cough?” he asked.

“Okay, I think I need to reiterate, again, that I am not actually a doctor,” said Sam, “it just sounded like a chest cold to me, flu, or bronchitis maybe, I couldn’t hear any fluid in his lungs.  But you have to promise me that you’ll find a real doctor if he gets worse.”

He was rewarded with a nod and another miserable looking smile. It was a terrible reward. “He said he knew me,” Steve added, very quietly, “he was better – than earlier, I mean. That’s good. Right?”

“Yeah,” said Sam non-committaly.

They sat there awkwardly until Natasha came out and joined them. She walked out of Bucky’s room and came and sat down next to Steve, and rested her hand on his arm. So Sam knew even before she started talking that whatever she was going to say was going to be bad.

“The Soldier seems very docile, very calm,” Natasha said, soft and sincere and looking into Steve’s eyes.

Steve looked like Natasha had just stabbed him in the gut, “No – don’t – don’t call him that.  Don’t call him that. Don’t call Bucky that.”

Natasha rubbed Steve’s arm gently, “Steve,” she started.

“No,” Steve whimpered.

“Steve,” Natasha said again, with just a bit of an edge, “I know what I saw, and I know what I heard, and that was the Winter Soldier.”

Steve shook his head, “he knew me.  He could of shot me, and he didn’t.  He pulled me out of the water.  He came here by himself.  He knew me,” he repeated. “He said he knew me. And he’s here.”

Natasha let him finish and took his hand.  “I know Steve, I know he is.  But the Winter Soldier, that programming, its still there too.  That docility; the way he follows orders. I know you saw it. That’s the Winter Soldier responding to a handler.”

Steve went sheet white, got up and left, a moment later Sam could hear retching. He moved to go and help, but Natasha waved him back down.  “I’ll take care of him.  You, mind _him_.” She jerked her head towards the bedroom door.

At a loss for what else to do, Sam went and stuck his head round the door to see what Bucky was doing.  Or rather wasn’t.  He was still sprawled in bed propped against the headboard more or less the way Steve had positioned him.  He didn’t seem to be in any obvious distress, so Sam left him to it and retreated back to the couch.

 

Natasha could keep a straight face and an even tone of voice in the face of anything up to and including the literal apocalypse but for all that, she didn’t really know what to do with Steve, doubled over on the bathroom floor, heaving dryly.  So she faked it. That she was good at.

“It’ll be okay,” she murmured, and made circles between Steve’s shoulder blades with one hand until he uncurled, and flopped back against the edge of the bathtub. “You can do this.”

“Its not okay,” Steve replied, between snuffles and gulps of air, “I’m no better than them if I just – just order him around.  I can’t.” 

“Steve listen to me,” said Natasha, sitting down to get to Steve’s eye level, “you _are_ better than them. You can do this. I trust you.”

“I can’t,” Steve repeated, “Natasha, he’s my friend.”

“I know,” said Natasha, “he’s your friend, and he’s hurt, and he can’t do these things himself right now.  So you need to look after him.  Until he can."

That seemed to work, for a second at least.  Steve caught his breath and nodded.  Then his face crumpled and he asked “he’s going to get better, right?”

Natasha nearly didn’t answer, because the truth was that she didn’t know. Bucky might wake up tomorrow like Snow White getting kissed by Prince Charming.  But whatever lingering trace of positive emotion had pushed Steve from ‘target’ to ‘handler’ in the Winter Soldier’s head might really be all that was left of James Barnes.  The empty-eyed doll in the bedroom might be as good as he ever got.  But this wasn’t the time for the truth, this was the time for getting Steve off the bathroom floor.    “He’ll be better soon.” She said.  “Just tell him what you need him to do, and then let him know that he’s done it. Its not – its not pleasant, but he’ll be more comfortable, at least right now.”

Steve nodded, picked himself up and washed his face, so it had been the right thing to say.

Sam stood back up when Natasha and Steve came back out of the bathroom. Steve waved him off with a mumbled ‘M’okay’.  Sam gave him a hug anyway and Steve clung for a terribly long minute.

“Sorry,” he said, when he let Sam go, “I didn’t mean to fall apart. I’m okay now.  I’ll be fine.  How’s Bucky?”

“He’s just fine,” said Sam. 

Steve went and stuck his head around the door anyway, and then went in and fussed with the blankets.  Natasha could see both of them through the door if she tilted her head, Bucky was still sprawled under the blankets, letting Steve fret over him with no apparent reaction.

“Steve,” said Natasha, “come back over here and let him be.”

Steve retreated back out of the bedroom with a murmured ‘try to sleep’, and Sam corralled him back into the living room.  “Do you need me to stay?” Sam asked, “and help you out. Because its no trouble.”

“We’ll be fine,” said Steve. 

Sam stood up and exchanged a despairing glance with Natasha and then with the ceiling.  “Steve, I’m going to come back tomorrow afternoon and check in.  Don’t argue.  Text me if there’s anything you need me to bring you.  Alright?”

“Sure Sam, thanks.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?”

“We’ll be fine.  Really,” said Steve, as he started ushering them both towards the door, “I’m fine.”


	3. Conversations Punctuated By Food

Sam flopped back against the door after Steve shut it, more or less in their faces.  “Man, he is not fine.  He is not even in the same voting district as fine.” 

Natasha just tipped back against the door next to him, shook her head and sighed like she was attempting to deflate herself. 

“You alright?” Sam asked her.

She shrugged and made a noise like ‘euh’.

“Look,” he continued, “Steve’s not gonna let us do anything else tonight. Have you eaten? I’ll take you to dinner.”

Natasha nodded, and walked over to the passenger door of Sam’s (new) car. There was no sign of how she’d arrived and Sam didn’t ask.  Neither of them said anything else until they were settled into a booth in the back of the diner by Sam’s house staring at burgers and plates of fries.

“You look tired,” Natasha said.  She reached out and stole one of Sam’s fries, despite having a plateful of her own.

“Well, I think the Hydra Exploding Roadtrip may be on hiatus,” Sam replied, “and it’s Friday.”

Natasha, must have been absolutely terrifying when she actually decided to interrogate someone, because she blinked, and ate another of his fries and he said, “I’m exhausted.  I’m gonna go home and sleep all weekend when I’m not checking that Steve’s head hasn’t exploded. But I’m okay, just, you know, superhero-ing takes it out of a guy.  Staying here and doing my normal job for a bit will be good.  How about you?  You sticking around?”

Natasha abruptly became interested in her own fries.

“Yes,” she said, after about five fries, “but in a bit. I’ve got something to do first.”

Sam must have looked concerned, or maybe vaguely horrified, it was one of those two, because Natasha ate another fry and kept going, “nothing dangerous. The Hydra Exploding Roadtrip is definitely on hiatus.  You can text me, if its important, I’m not going far.”  Then she picked up her burger and took a very large bite.

“So what did you think of him?” Sam asked, after she swallowed.

“Which one?” Natasha asked.

“Barnes. You think he actually has a shot at coming back from that?” Sam asked.  It felt bad to say, his back was to the wall, but he nearly turned to look over his shoulder, like Steve might magically appear to hear him.

Natasha took another bite of burger and chewed it deliberately. Sam was on the verge of redirecting the conversation when she answered, “Its difficult to say,” she said, “what do you think.”

“I don’t know what to think.  I mean, he didn’t seem much like the guy who ripped my wing off and kicked me into thin air.  And everything I know about Bucky Barnes comes from old cartoons, but he didn’t even seem like a person. You know?”

“You have to understand,” said Natasha, she’d put her food down, “its easy to get dazzled by all the violence, but when you take a person, and you make something – something like the Winter Soldier, its not violence that you want, its obedience.  Total, perfect obedience, not because he believes in the cause but just because not obeying would never occur to him.  Because he isn’t capable of disobeying.  That’s what the Winter Soldier is.”

“It occurred to him not to finish punching Steve’s face in.”

“It did.”

“But…”

“But you saw him just now.  He’s not different, he’s just obeying a different person. And maybe he’ll get better, or maybe he won’t, I’m not as big an expert as you seem to think I am.”

“But you are a smaller amount of expert?”

“I have some, lets call them related experiences,” said Natasha, and then she became very interested in her food again instead of explaining that.

“Did you tell Steve any of that?”

“I tried.  You saw how he was too.”

Sam nodded, “I can’t say I’d be any different if my best friend came back from the dead, but man if Barnes doesn’t come ‘round…”

Natasha pressed the heel of one hand into her forehead, just above her nose.  “Don’t think about it Sam. Don’t borrow trouble, we’ve got enough.”

She didn’t sound angry, she didn’t even sound exasperated. She looked even tireder than Sam felt., which she hadn’t a minute ago.  The conversation seemed to have died.  Natasha went back to eating single-mindedly, and Sam suddenly realized that he was really hungry and did the same.  

“Can you drop me at the train station?” Natasha asked, as she gulped the last of her coffee.

“Sure thing,” said Sam, I’ll get the bill.”

           

Natasha paused before getting into the car and looped her arms around his neck and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder for a moment.   Not quite long enough for him to hug her back. 

“I’m not sure we deserve you,” she said.  And then she climbed into the passenger side of the car and shut the door on any possible replies.

 

They didn’t make conversation while they drove, but when they pulled into the train-station parking lot she patted him on the shoulder and said, “be sure to get some sleep.”  Then she got out of the car, shut the door and walked away.

Sam watched Natasha until she was out of sight, then decided that he wasn’t up to driving all the way home yet and went and bought himself another cup of coffee from the station kiosk.  He sat in his car, drank his cheap coffee, flicked through radio stations and tried not to ruminate about Steve fretting uselessly over whatever was currently left of Bucky Barnes, or about how he would feel if Riley suddenly showed up, back from the dead and not knowing who he was, and whether that would feel better than knowing he wasn’t going to.  Then drained the last of his coffee, grimacing as he got a mouthful of bitter, gritty dregs, marshalled his focus and drove home.

 

They’d been away for two weeks.  Sam’s house was cold and dark and he was going to have to take a break from sleeping for long enough to buy groceries as well as check on Steve. He stopped long enough to turn the heating back up and undress but not long enough to shower before he fell face-first into bed.

 


	4. Night-Time

After Sam and Natasha left, Steve went back to sit with Bucky while he drifted slowly into a fitful sleep. He sat there, watching Bucky’s eyes flutter under their closed lids until his stomach growled and abruptly reminded him that he hadn’t eaten and that he would regret it if he didn’t do that soon. He had no idea when, or what Bucky’s last meal had been and he nearly considered waking him up to try and get him to eat something. But Bucky looked so tired. Even asleep he looked desperate for rest. So Steve just tucked the blankets a bit more firmly around his shoulders on the way out the door.

There wasn’t really any food in the house but Steve could hardly leave to get groceries and the idea of getting food delivered right then made him nervous. So he dug a couple of cans of soup out of the back of the pantry and made do with that. Should he text Sam and ask him to bring something? Or would that just be annoying? He couldn’t seem to stop asking Sam for favours, no matter what he did. At some point, Sam was going to stop saying yes and he didn’t know when that would be. 

Steve knew the sensible thing to do would be to sleep. It was late, Bucky might need him when he woke up, and his eyes were starting to ache. But he was suddenly wound up and twitchy, he needed to move, to do anything.

He tried tidying up, but there just wasn’t that much to do, he’d been away for weeks. He washed the dishes and put them away, he hung up his abandoned coat, he put Bucky’s wet clothes into the dryer, and he pointlessly straightened the living room before he remembered that his spare room was still shut up, so he couldn’t go to bed even if he wanted to. He stopped, ran his hand across his face, and went to dig clean sheets out of his linen cupboard. He made up the bed and wiped the dust off the desk and window sills. It wouldn’t bother him any more, but it still felt wrong not to do it, and it kept his hands busy.

He went to go retrieve some of his clothes from Bucky’s room so he could change and make himself lie down, but he got distracted watching Bucky sleep. His hair had fallen across his face and he was tangled up in the blankets again. Steve remembered how Bucky had struggled with the blankets the last time he’d woken. He reached down and gently tugged them loose. Bucky turned unconsciously towards the pressure as Steve smoothed them back down, or at least he seemed to. His head lolled towards Steve and a few more strands of hair fell across his face. Steve had put him to bed with his hair still wet, and it hadn’t totally dried. It was sticking to his cheek. It didn’t look comfortable. Steve brushed it back as gently as he possibly could and tucked the stray locks behind his ear. His skin felt clammy, and hotter than it had earlier. 

Bucky’s eyelashes fluttered when Steve’s fingers brushed his cheek. His eyes opened just enough for a hint of blue to be visible.

“Shhh,” said Steve, “sleep now. Keep on sleeping. I’ve got you. Go back to sleep.”

Bucky’s eyes shut again. Steve wasn’t sure if he’d heard him, or if he’d even really been waking up, or just stirring.

Steve retreated out of the room and tried to make himself go to bed and lie down, to rest even if he wasn’t going to actually sleep. But he did doze off and then had to flail awake again when Bucky had another coughing fit.

This time Steve could see that he had woken himself back up. His eyes were open, and he was pushing himself up onto his elbows and looking blearily around. Steve’s first instinct was to go straight to Bucky, to help him get resettled, to try and comfort him. But he’d tried that the last time and if anything, it had seemed to frighten him more. 

Instead, he just stood by the door and eased the lights up a bit at a time. There were a lot of things here in the future he either didn’t like or just plain couldn’t get used to, but dimmer-switches were, as far as he was concerned, a brilliant work of innovation, and right now they were stopping Bucky from getting startled.

Bucky looked in his direction, but to say he was looking at him was probably over-stating things. His eyes weren’t quite settling on anything and there were lines around his mouth and between his eyes that deepened whenever he moved.

“Hey Bucky,” said Steve, as he took a step into the room. It took a few more repetitions of his name before Bucky actually turned is head and looked at Steve, and Steve started to reconsider if he was actually all the way awake yet.

“Here you go,” he said, and handed Bucky the glass of water that he’d left on the bedside table. It had cooled to room temperature but Bucky drank it seemingly without a problem. And then he just sort of stayed like that, propped up on his metal arm, holding the empty glass and shaking from chills.

Steve put a hand against Bucky’s shoulder to tip him back onto the pillows and Bucky cringed like Steve had slapped him. Steve pulled his hand back and sat there stupidly, not knowing what to do. He was still lingeringly worried that he’d really hurt Bucky’s shoulder, but Bucky hadn’t seemed all that bothered when Steve had checked it earlier and Bucky felt hotter now than he had even just the last time Steve was with him.

When Steve had used to get like this; spacey from fever and shaking himself to pieces Bucky had used to climb into bed next to him and hold him close against his chest. Steve had always been embarrassingly grateful for the comfort and the source of stability. He’d always thought that it had been something that Bucky had done for him. Now he wondered if Bucky had felt like he did now, and had just desperately wanted to hold onto him to reassure himself that Steve was still there and still alive.

He started talking, not sure if Bucky was really hearing anything, “don’t worry, I know you feel bad right now, but its just flu. You just need some more rest and you’re going to feel better in a few days, just – just try to sleep through the worst of it okay. I don’t know if you remember, but it always used to be you doing this for me. Its weird to be doing this the other way around. Do you remember that at all?”

Bucky said nothing and Steve just kept up a stream of chatter until Bucky drooped back down and seemed to drift off and Steve wandered back to his bed to get an hour or so of sleep before Bucky next woke up. 

Bucky drifted uneasily in and out of sleep, seeming to spend more time either falling asleep or waking up than either actually sleeping or really conscious. After the first two rounds of this, Steve gave up trying to nap and went and sat in Bucky’s room with him. There wasn’t a whole lot he could do beyond giving Bucky water when he woke up and making sure he was relatively calm. Bucky didn’t speak, and he still couldn’t bear to be touched.

Steve hadn’t thought of himself as especially tactile before he’d been frozen and thawed out in the twenty-first century. But people touched each other so much less here in the future. And he’d mostly got used to it, or so he’d thought. He’d made new friends, and since they didn’t sling arms around him, or lean on him when they sat together, he didn’t either. But to not be able to touch Bucky, made him ache. He kept finding himself reaching out unthinkingly to rest his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, or to take his hand and then having to pull himself back.

Eventually he went and fetched his sketchbook to keep his hands occupied. He spent the rest of the night talking to Bucky about nothing when he woke and sketching him while he slept. 

He’d drawn Bucky a lot before he war and during it, and even more afterward. The curve of Bucky’s mouth and the line of his jaw were so familiar they were practically muscle memory. But the tangle of his hair around his face and the hollow shadows under his eyes were new and unpleasantly unfamiliar. It took him a few tries to get those right. And once he did he regretted it. The drawings had turned out well, but they were so terrible. He usually drew Bucky smiling, why had he even wanted to draw him looking so fragile and distressed? He tried to make the last image less stark, by adding the details of the blankets around him to show that Bucky was warm and safe and being looked after. It was still terrible.

But he still felt guilty about making such an unnecessary record of Bucky while he was so vulnerable. His sketchbooks weren’t all that private any more. People had bought them and he’d never been able to get them all back. He couldn’t bear the thought of some stranger looking into these moments just because they liked the art, or worse, because they wanted to be able to say they owned something of Captain America’s. Eventually, he just yanked the pages out and dumped them in the recycling bin.

 

Sometime a little after six Bucky abruptly tensed and then jerked out of what had to be some sort of nightmare or fever dream and scrambled out of bed. Steve called his name, but he didn’t seem to notice, he was staring fixedly at a point on the wall about a foot to Steve’s left as he backed out of the bedroom, and before Steve could follow him into the hall there was an ominous soft thump.

When Steve got to him Bucky was sitting huddled against the wall, in a tangle of limbs that didn’t look deliberate, with tears dripping down his face, still staring at a fixed point in the middle distance. Outside of his cocoon of blankets he was starting to shake horribly.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, sitting down next to him so he wasn’t looming over him, “Bucky, look at me now. Bucky, Bucky you need to wake up. You just had a nightmare, look at me.” 

It took a few minutes, but Bucky did manage to work his way out of wherever he’d been inside his head. There were still tears leaking down his face that he didn’t seem to be aware of, or, at least, wasn’t trying to wipe away. He got up, swayed for a second and disappeared into the bathroom. When he came back out he was shaking worse than ever and there were still tear tracks all down his face. It was still the first time Steve had seen him spontaneously get up and do anything since he’d arrived.

Steve didn’t want to keep him up, but he didn’t want to put him straight back to bed and risk him falling straight back into whatever dream he’d just come out of.

“Come over here,” he said and guided Bucky down the hall and toward the couch in the living room, “sit down here.”

Now that Natasha had pointed it out, he couldn’t not see the slightly automatic way Bucky moved as soon as he gave even a very softly spoken order. The stiff way he positioned himself on the couch. And he wished that he didn’t.

Bucky stayed where he was and let Steve drape the comforter from his bed around his shoulders, but cringed and struggled when Steve tried to wipe the tears off his face. He didn’t make any attempt to take the washcloth out of Steve’s hand and do it himself either, and Steve couldn’t bring himself to tell him to. So he just left it.

He went into the kitchen to see if he could find something better than endless glasses of warm water to give Bucky. There was a box of Carnation hot chocolate packets shoved into the back of one of his cupboards that he didn’t remember buying. Which Steve figured was going to have to do. The cocoa powder was about the same as it had been in 1940, it was weird the stuff that stuck had stuck around.

He brought the hot chocolate out into the living room and sat down on the floor by the couch, next to where Bucky was sitting, and they drank it together. Or, at least, they drank it sitting side by side. The hot chocolate wasn’t as good without milk, but it was more familiar, and it wasn’t nice, exactly, but they managed a few quiet moments. Bucky was slowly sinking back into the couch cushions. The tension around his eyes had smoothed out and he looked almost calm. They could nearly be back in Brooklyn, drifting off together.

When Bucky started to nod forward Steve rescued the empty mug from his hand and put a hand around Bucky’s shoulders to pull him to his feet. He didn’t cringe, or pull away from the touch, but that might just have been down to the thick interposing comforter.

 

Bucky let himself be led back to bed and seemed to fall asleep as they walked. By the time Steve deposited him back into bed Bucky was leaning on him, letting Steve take some of his weight. Steve wanted to pick him up, but he didn’t.

Sitting with Bucky in the living room had been soothing and he had only meant to stay for a minute and make sure that Bucky had really settled down alright, but he wound up asleep curled up with his head resting on the blankets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The internet tells me that household use dimmer switches became available in the late 1950s and that the first powdered instant hot chocolate was invented by Carnation (incidentally the hot chocolate brand I have in my cupboard) in 1935.


	5. Forgotten

_There was something he had forgotten.Something.But he didn’t know what it was.The Asset was supposed to return to his handlers when maintenance was required.He remembered that.He had gone back to – back to –_

 

_Something was wrong, that wasn’t right.And he ached so terribly.The Asset was supposed to return to his handlers when maintenance was required._

 

_There was someone here with him.His handler, his handlers stayed with him.That was right, wasn’t it?He let him lie down where it was soft and it helped the ache a little.And he was so gentle when he touched him.There had been someone else who had touched him gently once.But that had been so long ago, it had been different, and he couldn’t remember –_

 

_He had forgotten something, and he was going to be in so much trouble.They were going to hurt him again.His handler talked and talked and talked but he couldn’t make out any orders and he was going to be in so much trouble if he didn’t get it right.He’d be put back in the ice.But he couldn’t figure out what it was he had forgotten._

 


	6. Not Answering His Phone

Sam had meant to get up on time and make his house liveable before he went to check up on Steve, but he overslept.He overslept severely.When he woke up to his clock blinking 10:30 at him, he immediately rolled out of bed and texted Steve.

But by the time he had pulled on some clothes and got breakfast from the Starbucks down the street because there was no food in his house, Steve still hadn’t texted back.Sam made himself go through the basic procedures of settling back into his house.He flicked every light switch and all the taps.He made sure nothing obvious had gone missing.He emailed the VA and his sister to let them know he was back.He pulled his dirty laundry out of his duffle bag and stuffed it into the laundry hamper.Steve still hadn’t texted back.

Sam had originally planned to buy groceries and actually get settled back in before going to see Steve.But he’d also planned to have three more hours to do that in, and it occurred to him that Steve, in addition to being ominously uncommunicative, probably didn’t have any food either.So instead he decided to head to Steve’s immediately and grab him some things on the way, and reasoned that he could buy groceries for himself on the way back and it would spare him a trip.He texted Steve again from Steve’s doorstep and then waited for an entire two minutes before he gave up and just knocked on the door.

There was another wait before Steve opened the door.He looked groggy and terrible.  

“I tried to text,” said Sam.

Steve made the universal hands-on-pockets forgotten phone gesture and backed out of he doorway with a soft “oh, sorry.”

“Its fine,” said Sam, as he pulse finally started to slow down, and he headed into Steve’s kitchen and started to unload his bags of groceries onto the counter, “how are you managing?”

“We’re doing okay here.” Steve shrugged.There were shadows around his eyes, his hair was mussed and he was still wearing yesterday’s clothes.“thanks for bringing these, I shoulda thought –“

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said, “we’ve all been out of town and its not like you had any warning.Did you get any sleep?”

“Hour or so.”

“Is Bucky doing okay?” Sam asked, because that wasn’t the best answer he could have given.

“He hasn’t said anything else,” said Steve, which Sam thought was very telling about Steve, less so about Bucky.

“He’s been kind of out of it,” Steve continued, unprompted, for once, “tired.I mean, it’s the flu, you know?I should see if I can get him to take some of that, I guess, I don’t know if it’ll still do anything.” Steve angled his head towards the bottle of aspirin Sam had left on his counter.

It was such a tremendous load of waffle, and from Steve, who rarely waffled when he had his head together, especially since he’d gone from seemingly terrified about Bucky’s health to oddly confident that he just had the flu overnight, that Sam instantly worried about what Steve was hiding.  

“Do you want to lie down for a bit now?” Sam asked, “I’ll be here if anything happens.”It was only slightly a ploy to get a look at Bucky without Steve fretting over his shoulder.

“I’m okay, I don’t need that much sleep.”

The latter was true, the former was a blatant lie.What was worse was that Steve seemed to think he was being convincing.Sam suddenly wished he’d got Natasha to explain her fry-stealing interrogation trick before she’d left for wherever.Telling Steve he was an awful liar and ordering him to go lay down this instant would be like trying to order around a bag of rocks.

“Sure,” Sam said, instead, “have you eaten yet?I’ll make you breakfast, well, lunch at this point, I guess.”

Steve’s whole face scrunched up in a grimace, “oh no, stop, you’ve done lots.You don’t need to do that.”

“Steve, its fine.”

“No I can’t ask you to do anything else.” Steve insisted, like making toast and eggs was some sort of massive imposition after he’d just followed Steve all the way to Belgrade to blow up Hydra bases.

“Come on man, take a breath,” Sam said.

“I can handle it,” said Steve.

Sam closed his eyes for a moment.“Steve, get a grip.”

Steve actually looked offended, as if he hadn’t been being ridiculous.

“Go sit on the couch,” said Sam, “and we are going to talk.Right now.”

Steve went and sat on the couch.He pouted, but he did it.

Sam came and sat next to Steve and patted his shoulder.Steve leant into the touch a little, just like he always did.Sam was pretty sure he didn’t know he did it.“You are not going to be able to do this alone,” said Sam.

“We’re doing fine,” said Steve, “I’m managing fine.”

“And I believe you,” said Steve, “but do you think this is going to be the last time you’re up all night?How many days can you go without sleep?What are you going to do if he needs serious medical attention?Have you thought about any of this at all, ever?”

Steve drooped and curled his shoulders in.It was kind of pathetic.

“This is going to take time,” said Sam.“We talked about this.I know you remember us talking about this.You’re not gonna be any help to anyone if you’ve run yourself into the ground two weeks from now.”

“He’s gonna get better,” Steve mumbled.“He came back, he knew me, he said he knew me.”

“Yeah, I heard that,” said Sam.

“That was good right?” asked Steve and wilted another few degrees until his elbows were resting on his knees and he was looking at his shoes.

“Yeah,” said Sam, “that seemed pretty encouraging.Now, I’m going to make brunch, and you’re going to sit on the couch and relax for a few minutes because you had a long night.”

“I should go see if Bucky’s up,” said Steve.

Sam sighed and picked his battles, “I’ll come with you.”

Bucky looked more or less the same as he had the other night.Curled up asleep under a heap of blankets, shivering.What Sam could see of his face looked tear-streaked.  

“Let him sleep,” said Sam, grabbing the back of Steve’s shirt so he didn’t go over and fuss.“And while we’re at it, I don’t know if this is like, an old-timey thing, but you aren’t supposed to bundle people up when they’ve got a fever.”

“I, didn’t, um, he did that–“ said Steve, “he likes it, I think.Being bundled up.He seemed, I dunno, comforted, I guess.I don’t wanna…”

“It’ll probably be fine,” said Sam, and it probably would, “its better if he’s calm.Now leave him be, he can eat when he wakes up.”

Sam hauled Steve back into the hallway, and then he went and made breakfast.He scrambled eggs in butter, and made toast and coffee, and cut up apples.Steve put away the groceries instead of resting on the couch like he’d been told.

“So I talked to Nat,” said Sam, once they were both seated at the table, “and she says that she’s going to be back in a few days once she’s done ‘a thing’, got any idea where she’s going?”

“No idea.Sorry, I guess I don’t know her as well as I thought.”

“I don’t think Natasha knows Natasha as well as she thought Steve.I wouldn’t worry about it.But let me know if you hear from her.She seemed kind of shaken up,” said Sam.

 

Sam had only meant to stay for long enough to make sure Steve wasn’t a total nervous wreck, but Steve actually seemed like a total nervous wreck.So Sam stayed, to see if there was anything he could do to un-wreck him a bit.

He didn’t think he succeeded, but he got some sense of why Steve wasn’t sleeping.Bucky didn’t seem to be able to sleep for more than about forty-five minutes at a stretch, and every time he came around Steve would rush over and sit next to him, and yammer soothing nonsense at him and offer him water until he fell back to sleep.And maybe it was helping, but Sam wasn’t totally convinced.

The fever made it difficult to assess Bucky’s mental state.Maybe he was sleepy and silent because he’d been brainwashed into obedience like Natasha had described, or possibly he had the flu and he was sore and exhausted and trying he level best to sleep for twelve hours straight.Sam honestly wasn’t sure how he would tell.After he tried and failed to get Steve to go to sleep a couple more times, Sam eventually patted Steve on the shoulder again and promised to look in on him the next day.

 

Sam did manage to pick up his groceries and shove them in the fridge still in their bags before he sat on his couch for a minute and took an accidental three-hour nap.He shook himself awake as the sun was setting.His mouth felt gluey, and he desperately needed the bathroom.Immediate needs taken care of Sam made himself actually get up and make a real dinner.He even actually managed to steal a few minutes of internal peace and quiet while he sautéed onions and browned meat to make spaghetti sauce.By the time the food was done his house was warm, and it smelled nice, and that wasn’t nothing.

 

He checked in with Steve, and brought him leftover spaghetti sauce the next day.Steve didn’t seem any better rested, but he did seem a little less frantic, although no more receptive to the idea that Bucky would probably survive being left alone for a couple of hours if Steve wanted to take a nap or go for a walk.Bucky, as far as he could tell, was exactly the same, and barely seemed to notice that Steve or Sam were there.Sam had been prepared to stay with Steve and try and talk him through things a bit.But Steve so utterly unreceptive to taking advice, or even just accepting some help that Sam left pretty fast.Steve was still coping, and if things got to the point where he wasn’t and Sam really needed to force the issue, he didn’t want to have already tired himself out and put Steve on the defensive by arguing with him.

 

A little after Sam left he got a text.

 

MARIA HLL: Nat said you found Barnes?Roger’s isn’t answering his phone.Are you okay?

 

SAM WILSON: We’re fine.Call you in fifteen.

 

Sam replied, as he got into his car.  

He waited until he got home, confirmed his schedule with the VA for Monday, and made himself a cup of coffee before he phoned Agent Hill, which was actually closer to half an hour than fifteen minutes.

“What is going on?” said Maria, by way of greeting.“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all for two days, no one’s answering me.”

“Sorry,” said Sam, “things got a little hectic.Do you want the whole story, or should I make you an executive summary since I hear you’re a Stark Industries corporate big-shot now?”

“Ha, ha.Short first, then long,” said Maria.

“Barnes reappeared, Steve more or less tripped over him, Natasha showed up for about five minutes then left for parts unknown, Steve’s saying he’s fine, but he’s lying.”

“Has anything blown up and has Barnes tried to kill anyone?” said Maria, she sounded kind of snappy.

“No, as far as I can tell he’s mostly been asleep.”

“Asleep.” Said Maria.

Sam shrugged, then remembered Maria couldn’t hear a shrug down the phone, “He was sick when he showed up.He’s still pretty sick now.”

“Okay, I want the long version now,” said Maria.

Sam explained.

“Well I guess that’s some evidence in favour of him remembering Steve,” said Maria, when he finished.

“I’m not so sure,” Sam admitted, “before Nat wandered off she had this theory that the Winter Soldier has a wire crossed and he thinks that Steve is –“

He’d heard it from Natasha without flinching, but found it was many times harder to say.He had to stop and take a breath, “Natasha thinks that the Winter Soldier may think that Steve is his handler.”

“Well, that does make sense,” said Maria, her voice flattened just slightly into what Sam thought of as Agent Hill, “I mean, there’s no reason for Bucky Barnes to avoid Steve Rogers for three months but the Winter Soldier only coming in for maintenance is a lot more likely.”

“Yeah, uh, speaking of Natasha, do you have any idea where she might have gone,” Sam said, “because she wasn’t hugely specific.”

“I have an idea,” said Agent Hill, but didn’t elaborate, “how did Steve react to that theory?”

“Natasha said denial, but I wasn’t there for the conversation,” said Sam, “right now he just seems kind of frazzled but I’m keeping an eye on him.I’ll try and get him to call you, or, you know, remember to pick up his phone for anyone at all.”

“Thanks,” said Maria, “but don’t run yourself into the ground.I can probably swing by.”

“You don’t need to do that,” said Sam, “I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“I’m serious Sam, take care of yourself.”

 


	7. Farm Team

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily inspired by [The Nest - by Fyre](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3982126).
> 
> As of 09/12/2015 this is the longest thing I've ever written.

Natasha took the train out to one of the safe-houses and cars that weren’t on SHIELD’s records, paused long enough to text Maria Hill to let her know that Barnes had come in from the cold and toss all the clothes she had on hand into a bag, and then drove all night. She pulled up to the farm after the sun rose, parked her car behind the copse that would keep it out of satellite view and walked the last half-kilometre. 

Laura was in the kitchen when she got in the door. Natasha picked her way through the living room, which was filled with ten times as many toys as normal, vaulted the counter and twirled Laura around and kissed her. She hugged Laura close while they kissed. When they paused for breath Laura reached up and pressed Natasha’s head into the crook of her neck.

“Hey Sweetheart,” said Laura into her hair. 

“Hey,” Natasha replied, muffled into Laura’s neck. She hugged her just a bit more tightly.

Laura hugged her a little bit closer in return and rubbed between her shoulder blades, and then tugged her back up for another kiss. First on her lips, then her forehead, and then just under her jaw.

“I really missed you,” said Laura. She pulled her away to hold her at arms length and look her over. “Clint’s just outside, he’ll be in in a minute, hopefully we’ll get an hour or so before the kids wake up.”

Clint came back in smelling of sweat and cut wood, and wrapped his arms around both of them and distributed kisses randomly over both their faces. The butterfly kisses made Laura giggle, which made Clint giggle. Natasha couldn’t quite work up a laugh of her own, but it still felt good.

“How have you been? No problems?” Natasha asked, still pressed against Clint’s chest with one of Laura’s arms around her shoulders. “Security still holding up?”

“Fury knew what he was doing,” said Clint, “everything’s been fine here. Did he send you, or are you finally taking a vacation?”

“We found Barnes,” Natasha said, with her nose mushed into Clint’s chest, “well, he found Rogers.”

Clint ended the hug to look her over, like Laura had, “Is everyone okay? You know you could have called me in right?”

Laura wriggled away and started making coffee. Natasha waved Clint off.

“No, Barnes, he, he came in. He was… docile.” Natasha perched on the kitchen counter and explained the whole thing. Sam’s call, Barnes sprawled will-lessly in Steve’s bed. Steve curled up on the bathroom floor vomiting. Sam half-asleep over his dinner.

When she finished Laura hopped up on the counter beside her, handed her a mug full of coffee, and rested her head against Natasha’s shoulder.

“Is there anything we can do?” Laura asked, “do you want to bring them here? I mean, it worked for you, and we have space, we could –“

“No.” Natasha cut her off. She put her mug down and put her arms around Laura and buried her face in Laura’s hair. It smelled different than her last visit; like something citrus-y. “You are the kindest, most generous person I have ever known, but that is a terrible idea.”  
Natasha would happily have left it at that. She was done with explaining. Actually she was done with talking. She wanted to sit at Clint’s kitchen table and drink coffee and draw pictures with Lila and never leave.

“Aw,” said Clint, “you turned out okay, we haven’t completely lost our touch.”

“No,” said Natasha.

Laura wriggled out of Natasha’s hug and trapped her in one of her own, tucking Natasha’s head under her chin again. “What’s the problem?”

“Barnes isn’t… like I was. He’s not really… I was lucid. I mean, I was brainwashed, but I knew what was going on. He could kill everyone and have no idea we weren’t all Hydra scientists. And there were no kids here when I was here the first time. Its best he stays with Rogers for now. He has some shot at recognizing him, and also he’s durable.”

“Hey,” said Clint, “I’ll have you know that I am exceptionally durable.”

“Oh please,” said Laura, “you got bitten by a sheep.”

“And I am absolutely fine,” said Clint, “like I said, durable.”

“You got a sheep?” Natasha asked.

“We got three sheep,” said Clint, “we’re trying them out. You should let Lila show them to you though. Its an experience.” 

Natasha cracked a smile.

“There we go,” said Laura, “lets do breakfast now, worrying later.”

“I’ll help,” Natasha offered.

Laura cringed. “You can cut up fruit. I like my kitchen.”

She gave Natasha a knife and a cutting board, and a carton of peaches, and set about mixing up pancakes while Clint fried eggs and bacon.

She got about half way through her pile of fruit before there was a cacophony of thumping as Cooper and Lila came down the stairs. 

“AUNTIE NAT!” Lila screamed.

Nat put the knife down before Lila could jump into her lap. “Auntie Nat, Auntie Nat, we got SHEEP! They’re so fluffy!”

“I heard,” said Nat, “how about you show me after breakfast?”

Natasha ate pancakes and eggs and peach slices sitting in between Cooper and Lila and then scooped Lila up onto her shoulders and went to meet some sheep.

There were, as promised, three of them; brown ovals of fuzz on legs that ambled up to them and bleated while Lila fed them handfuls of grass. Natasha couldn’t tell them apart but she stroked them while Lila elaborated on their various names and supposed personalities and Cooper recited a litany of carefully memorized sheep facts. Natasha wasn’t sure there was any difference between the sheep, but they were very soft and apparently happy to let Natasha knead her fingers into their wool, even if one of them was nibbling on the waistband of her jeans while she did.

“Are they the best sheep ever Auntie Nat?” Lila asked.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever met a sheep before,” Natasha admitted, “they’re pretty soft though. I think I’m going to steal this one and train it to be my pillow.” She scratched the ears of the jean-nibbling sheep.

“That’s silly,” said Lila.

“You can’t use a sheep as a pillow,” Cooper agreed, “sheep have to stay outside. You can’t housetrain sheep. They would poop on the floor.”

“That’s gross,” said Lila

 

After lunch Clint took a turn with the kids while Laura and Natasha retreated to the bedroom to catch up. Natasha rubbed her hands together absently as they headed up the stairs. 

“Feels good right?” Laura asked, “it turns out sheep secrete moisturizer. There’s a name for it, which Coop can helpfully recite if you dare ask him.”

“Lanolin,” Natasha offered absently, having already received the full spiel. “New shampoo, fluffy hand lotion dispensers, you’ve got all fancy since I’ve been away.”

“You like the shampoo?” Laura asked, “want to try it out? I could wash you hair for you?”

“You’re amazing,” said Natasha, and followed Laura into the bathroom.

Laura waited until she was sitting behind Natasha in the bath rubbing shampoo into her hair to ask, “Are you staying long?”

“Only a few days,” Natasha admitted, “I don’t want to leave Steve and Sam alone for long.”

“Is Bucky Barnes really that dangerous?” Laura asked. She put a bit of stress on the name, which was something Natasha associated with exposure to American history textbooks.

“He’s not dangerous. He’s disoriented, and probably suggestible and liable to be a lot of work. But Steve’s panicking already, and Sam isn’t used to this like I am, he’s already exhausted. Someone needs to keep an eye on them.” Natasha explained.

“Do you need Clint?” Laura offered, “because I promise I don’t mind. Actually he’s decided to build the kids a playhouse and he’s totally torn up the playroom and now there are toys literally all over the house and if he doesn’t finish it soon I’m going to send him to you just to get rid of him. Duck your head now.”

Natasha slipped down into the water and let Laura comb her fingers through her hair to work the bubbles out of it.

“No I’m, aaahhh-“ Natasha gasped, when Laura pressed her thumbs into the base of her skull.

“Tense? I think Black Widow may be worn out and need a break.” Laura moved her fingers down Natasha’s neck, and Natasha tried not to dignify the comment with a response, but ended up gasping when the muscles in her neck started to unlock. “Okay, back up now.”

Laura took her hands away and when she put them back against Natasha’s hairline they were coated in a cool layer of silky-feeling conditioner, which she combed through Natasha’s hair with her fingers before shoving her gently back into the water to rinse it back out. Then she worked her fingers back down Natasha’s neck to rub her shoulders.

“Do you want me to do you now?” Natasha asked, without opening her eyes, once her hair was clean and the worst knots had come out of her shoulders.

“I washed it this morning,” said Laura, “besides, the water’s getting cold.”

Laura nudged her out of the water and draped a robe over her that was too big for either of them and smelled like Clint.

Natasha shrugged into it and squirmed back and forth to feel the texture of the flannel against her skin.

Laura wrapped her arms around Natasha’s middle from behind and pulled her backwards until Natasha was leaning on her, “is my fancy new shampoo everything you hoped for?”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Do you and your grapefruit-smelling hair want to take a grape-fruit smelling nap?” 

“No, I’m good,” said Natasha, “I can go send Clint up and let –“ she paused to yawn until her jaw clicked.

Laura walked over to the bed and lay down. Her arms were still wrapped around Natasha’s stomach, so Natasha went too.

“Babysit later. Rest now,” said Laura.

She reached up and stroked Natasha’s wet hair back from her face, and patted her shoulder. Her other arm was still wrapped firmly around Natasha’s stomach, keeping her secure and grounded.

 

Natasha guessed that she must have drifted off for a while, because when Clint stuck his head around the door and said “Aww, look at you two,” she hadn’t heard him come up the stairs and her hair was starting to dry. 

“Did the kids wear you out already?” Laura asked.

“No, I just thought I come see if I could steal Nat for a minute, but it looks like the kids wore her out, and I notice you aren’t mocking her for it by the way.”

“I’m awake,” said Natasha.

Laura sat up and slid off the bed, “I went out for lunch with Mahira, for two hours, and you were asleep when I got back.”

“That was two years ago, you aren’t allowed to mention that any more,” Clint complained.

Laura walked over and pressed a kiss briefly against Clint’s mouth, then tossed her robe on the bed and dug clothes out of her dresser. “You may absolutely steal Nat, I warmed her up for you and everything.”

Clint flopped into the spot Laura had just vacated. “Oh hey, you are all nice and warm,” he commented.

Natasha rolled over and tucked herself under Clint’s arm. She was still sleepy and completely prepared to drift off again, but Clint poked her in the shoulder to keep her awake.

“You need coffee,” Clint said, “and I need to be briefed on the Winter Soldier, apparently. Didn’t he shoot you that one time? And now it turns out he’s Bucky Barnes?”

Natasha rubbed her eyes, “The Winter Soldier is out of play. Object of least concern.”

“You’re concerned,” Clint noted.

“They broke him, he’s broken now. Its really messing Rogers up,” Natasha explained.

“They didn’t break you.” Clint reassured her.

“Yes they did,” said Natasha, very softly, “you saw what they made me.”

“Yeah, but I also saw what you made you, and I like that you. I like it kinda a lot.”

This was an old conversation. They’d had it after Natasha’s first mission with SHIELD, and after Budapest, and again after New York. The repetition of it was soothing.

“Really?” She asked.

“I like you, Laura likes you, Coop likes you, Lila thinks you are the physical incarnation of God…”

“Fury lied to me, I’m not in his circle,” Natasha mumbled, knowing that she really just needed to stop acting like a toddler about it.

But what Clint actually said was, “well, next time Fury show up here we’ll all go sit in a circle and make him stand in the corner.” 

The ridiculous part wasn’t the idea. It was that he would probably, actually do it.

Then Clint scooped her onto his lap, pressed her down against his chest and kissed her, catching her lip just a tiny bit with his teeth. 

He looked up at her and smirked, “well, I’ve gotta take advantage of having you all to myself.”

When Natasha leaned down to kiss him again though, he stopped her with a splayed hand against her collarbones. 

“Okay now, one serious work question. Do you need to go back to DC with you?”

Natasha shook her head. “I’ll just be holding Roger’s hand, you can stay with your family.”

“You’re part of this family too.” Clint reminded her, “and I think we have a few minutes before we have to go watch Frozen for the fifteenth time.”

“You know, I haven’t actually seen that yet,” Natasha mentioned.

Clint wrapped his arms around her and pressed kisses down the length of her throat, and stroked her hair. And then rolled over on top of her and tickled her ribs until she shrieked. “There’s a smile,” said Clint.

Natasha hit him with a pillow.

 

Clint eventually led Natasha downstairs, loudly announced “Auntie Nat hasn’t seen Frozen yet.”

This caused Lila to more or less explode, ricocheting into Natasha’s lap, somehow managing to accumulate her weight in Frozen merchandise in the trip across the living room and back to the couch. 

Clint and Laura saw the DVD safely into the DVD player and fled upstairs. Maybe they just wanted an hour of alone time, but they looked vaguely daunted in the face of Lila’s squeaky enthusiasm. Natasha didn’t care, she loved the squeaky enthusiasm. She was soaking up as much of it as she could in case Lila grew out of it. 

Lila sung along loudly with every song, and asked “Have you ever met a real reindeer?” over he ending credits

“Actually I have,” Natasha admitted.

“Are they really fluffy?” asked Lila, this being the key defining feature of all animals as far as she was concerned.

“I don’t know,” said Natasha, “it turns out when you sneak up on a reindeer, they chase you and they have really big antlers, so I had to run away really fast.”

“Boy reindeer and girl reindeer both grow antlers,” Cooper offered, “did you know that?”

“No,” said Nat, “but I always thought I was getting chased by a boy reindeer, but now I guess that it could have been a girl reindeer.”

“I think it was a girl reindeer,” said Lila.

Lila wriggled off the couch, got her paper and crayons and set about industriously drawing a picture that Natasha had a sinking feeling was her being chased by a reindeer.

Clint and Laura wandered down when Lila’s picture was about half-way done, both of them had messy hair, like maybe they had been having sex, or maybe they had just taken a nap together. Lila’s picture was complete enough for Clint to identify the scene and laugh about it. Natasha got revenge by singing ‘Let It Go’ off-key and getting Lila and Cooper to both join her, until Clint begged for mercy.

 

There was a reason that Laura typically didn’t let Natasha cook, but she was deemed qualified enough to supervise Cooper chopping up ingredients for salad. At some point since her last visit Lila had apparently been deemed old enough to help in the kitchen, and she was entrusted with stirring cream sauce, which she did with all of the enthusiasm of someone too young and inexperienced to know that they have just had a truly boring task fobbed off on them. Once, now quite a long time ago, Natasha had been much older than Lila but about as experienced in the kitchen and she had also been set to stirring cream sauce. That sauce had gone into making macaroni and cheese. Natasha had still never managed to make macaroni and cheese by herself, although, in her own defence she rarely had the chance to practice and was a champion at ordering it at restaurants.

They were making macaroni and cheese now; Natasha was grating the cheese that would go into Lila’s sauce while she kept an eye on Cooper as he chopped up peppers and cucumbers. Laura was leant on the counter overseeing Lila and keeping an eye on her pasta water. Clint had made garlic bread, it was sitting on the counter wrapped in foil, and was rolling pie dough. There was a bag of blueberries thawing out on the counter, waiting to be turned into filling. Clint liked to maintain a careful facade of generalized uselessness around most of S.H.I.E.L.D. but it was a huge pile of lies. One day, Natasha was going to out him and his baking skills to Steve, but right now she was happy to keep the secret and the pie to herself. It was a much more elaborate meal than they usually made, and Natasha was well aware that the meal full of her oldest favourites was planned entirely for her benefit. But just then she was willing to accept the support. And she never turned down pie from Clint. 

Natasha had two slices of pie for dessert, with ice cream.

Once the dishes were clean Lila immediately suggested that they all watch Frozen again, which Natasha would actually have gone along with, if only to see the look on Lila’s face, but Lila was voted down in favour of board games and hot chocolate. Natasha took Cooper and Lila to bed once the hot chocolate was finished. Lila was already nodding off against Natasha’s shoulder but still insisted on a story before bed. She got about two-thirds of the way through Green Eggs and Ham before she passed out cold in Natasha’s lap. She finished the book for Cooper and gave him a hug before she picked Lila up and poured her into bed.

She went back downstairs and Clint poured them glasses of wine they ignored in favour of kissing like teenagers while the children were safely asleep. They made a point of not kissing in front of the kids - well, Clint and Laura kissed, but they rarely kissed Natasha, because the kids were too young to be asked to keep a secret and every time they agreed to just have it out and take any consequences, they chickened out at the last minute. They never did finish their wine. They wandered up stairs, and Natasha wound up in bed pressed between Laura and Clint. 

“This one’s new,” Laura murmured, running her fingers over the bullet wound scar under her collar bone. She ran her hand down between Natasha’s breasts to her stomach and over her hip. “This one too,” she grumbled, when her fingers found the just-closed knife slash there. 

Clint reached over and twined his fingers with Laura’s, over the point of Natasha’s hip. Natasha could feel the calluses on the pads of Clint’s fingers. 

“You getting into trouble without me Nat?” said Clint, “not cool.”

“You two are a nightmare,” Laura complained, and stifled a yawn into Natasha’s hair, “I’m going to to handcuff you both to the bed and keep you here till you get some sense of self-preservation.”

“That sounds like fun,” said Clint, “let’s do that next.”

But Laura was already asleep.

 

Late mornings were not really an option on a farm with two small children in the house. Clint offered to let Natasha sleep in anyway, but that would have made her a guest, so she got up with the rest of them and got sent to feed sheep. She spent about twice as long stroking the sheep as she did feeding them. The sheep, for their part, didn’t seem to mind. She wondered idly if this was a characteristic of sheep in general, or if these three had been selected specifically for this particular brand of petting-zoo docility. 

“Must be nice,” she said to the sheep, as she gave them all one final scratch behind the ears, “you grow a big fluffy coat and everyone just loves you. Don’t take it for granted.” 

The sheep whose ears she was scratching bleated softly. The other two ignored her. She went back inside.

 

For the crime of spending too long with the sheep to contribute to any part of breakfast but the eating part, Natasha was promptly stuck with the dishes. Her phone rang from the living room when she was elbow-deep in soapy water.

“Its me,” she answered in a voice that did not reflect the acrobatics that had been needed to get to the phone by the third ring.

“Well it is now,” said Maria, dryly, “this is my fourth call.”

“Sorry,” said Natasha.

There was a huff of breath down the phone, “I’ll live. You’re at Hawkeye Home Base?”

“Since yesterday morning. We’re 100% here, you okay?” Natasha asked, she’d told Maria her plans and given that, four calls was a lot.

“I’m fine, and I finally got through to Wilson, who says that he’s fine and Steve is ‘frazzled’. I haven’t spoken to Steve directly, because he isn’t answering his phone. Which seems to be the fashion these days,” said Maria, just a little too tensely for it to be joking. But then again, they had all dropped out of contact hours after getting back from a mission.

“What does ‘frazzled’ mean, in context?” Natasha asked.

“No idea. At a guess, physically okay and mentally less so,” said Maria.

“Right.”

“It got to you a bit, didn’t it?” Maria asked, after a beat.

“No,” said Natasha, and then, “yes.”

“You okay?” Maria asked.

“I’ll get over it,” Natasha replied, “did you get any other details about Rogers beyond ‘frazzled’?”

“Well, Wilson mentioned something about him being in denial, but he said you were there for that bit, and he hasn’t answered his phone since you got back Stateside,” said Maria.

“I was there for that bit, and he was definitely in denial when I left. I don’t think he’s in danger, unless I read something very wrong,” said Natasha.

“That’s enough to reassure me, at least short term,” said Maria.

It wasn’t enough to reassure Natasha, but she didn’t say that.

“Do you think I should brief Stark?” Maria asked, when Natasha didn’t say anything.

Natasha set the phone down on the kitchen table while she thought about that. She had seen the picture of Howard Stark, flashing by on an ancient computer screen in Zola’s bunker-in-a-bunker. But she didn’t know if Steve had, and she didn’t know if Stark had, or if that was in the information that she had dumped onto the internet, or even if she was interpreting it right. If it was, it was a matter of time until Stark saw it too. If not…

She picked the phone back up, “you should brief Pepper. Let her handle Stark.”

“Good call, I’ll do that,” said Maria, and didn’t comment on the long silence.

“And I’ll go back to DC tonight, just in case Steve isn’t managing as well as we thought,” Natasha added.

“You sure?” asked Maria.

“Yeah, its no problem,” said Natasha.

“Copy that,” said Maria, and hung up.

When Natasha put the phone back down and turned back to finish with the dishes Clint was leaning against the doorframe. 

“You ditching us already then?” he asked.

“Looks like. Sorry,” she said.

“Do you want me to come?” Clint asked, again.

“Its fine, stay with your family. Its not like I’m even going that far,” said Natasha, waving a hand and flicking soap suds across the kitchen, not hard enough to reach Clint.

Clint walked up behind her, wrapped his arms around her at the exact right angle to be totally disruptive to her dishwashing, and rested his chin on top her head.

“You’re family too,” he said, and she could feel the vibrations of the words through the top of her head.

“Stay home and play with your kids Barton,” she grumbled, “I’ll go babysit the crying super soldier. Its division of labour.”

“Jesus,” said Clint, “is he actually crying.”

“Well, he’s not answering his phone, so close enough,” said Natasha.

“Jesus,” Clint said again, and then started digging through the cupboards, “well, we should send you back food, that’s always helpful. I’ll make pie, and zucchini bread. That’s very… nutritious.”

“Are the zucchini’s out of control again?” Natasha asked.

“No,” said Clint, “zucchini bread is great, its exactly what Steve needs.”

“The zucchini’s are out of control again.”

“They are so out of control. I don’t know what to do with them all, I think I need Dr. Banner to come and make sure they haven’t, like, mutated, or something.” Clint admitted.

 

There really was more zucchini than anyone needed. Clint took out bag after bag of shredded zucchini and turned it into zucchini bread, and chocolate zucchini bread, which lured everyone else back into the kitchen with good smells. So despite the truncated trip, Natasha did get to sit and draw with Lila. While they drew, Clint moved on from zucchini bread back to pie. He made another blueberry pie, an apple pie, “because Captain America Nat”, and a pumpkin pie before Laura called him off and drafted Natasha to help him finish off the construction of the playhouse. It was a simple enough project, especially as Clint’s renovations went, a set of half-high walls and a door tucked into one corner of the playroom, and construction did go faster with her providing an extra set of hands. Piling all the toys that had been moved to allow for the construction back into the playroom certainly did.

 

Natasha left after dinner with a box of baked goods and zucchini in her back seat, six drawings from Lila and two from Cooper (who denied liking to draw, but who was lying), and one thousand demands from Clint and Laura to call and let them know that she and Steve and Sam and Bucky were all alright, and even more demands that she ask as soon as she needed anything. She wasn’t planning to actually do that, but it still felt nice to have them offer.


	8. Morning

Bucky spent two days fading in and out of sleep in a feverish haze and Steve couldn’t bring himself to leave him alone.But by Sunday night he was so tired that he actually did go into the spare room and crash for five hours.If Bucky made any noise during that time, it wasn’t enough to wake him.He woke up with a start, not sure how long he’d been asleep.He hated that feeling now, he was always just slightly afraid that he’d wake up and find the world had moved on again.He was more afraid, now, that he would find that Bucky had disappeared, but when Steve came into his room he was there, sitting up in bed, awake and looking around. 

“Hiya Buck,” said Steve, “how are you feeling?”

Bucky turned to look at him, but he didn’t answer him.He looked a little more focused, his eyes weren’t as glassy, but they were still red and puffy from the seemingly random crying jags he’d been having, and his lips were cracked to the point of bleeding.He also badly needed a shower, his hair was a tangled mess and he smelled of stale sweat. 

He didn’t cringe when Steve rested the back of his hand against his cheek to check his temperature though.He still felt hot to Steve, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked, crouching down to look into Bucky’s eyes.

Bucky didn’t look away, but he also didn’t answer.

“Do you feel better?Are you in pain?”

Still no answer.

Steve’s relief at seeing Bucky awake and seemingly calm was rapidly dissolving.How could he help if Bucky couldn’t tell him what he needed?

“Just give me a minute, okay?” he said, and left, intending to phone Sam, or Nat, or somebody.

He had his phone in his hand before he was hit by a sudden wave of utter shame.He shouldn’t need Sam or Natasha to come and tell him how to look after Bucky while he had the flu, he shouldn’t have needed Sam to tell him the Bucky had the flu in the first place.He might not be able to undo all the things that Hydra had done to Bucky, but he shouldn’t have needed help to do something for Bucky that Bucky had done for him dozens of times.

Bucky didn’t take the washcloth Steve offered him to wipe his face.He just kept staring at Steve without quite making eye contact, like he was waiting for something to happen.

“I’m just going to wipe your face,” Steve told him, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “okay?” 

He really wanted a nod, or some sign of consent.He didn’t get one, but unlike the last couple of times he’d tried, Bucky didn’t struggle, or put his hands in front of his face when Steve reached out.Steve thought Bucky might actually have relaxed a little into the touch while he wiped his face and dabbed tear-streaks off the delicate skin around his eyes.But it could have just been wishful thinking on Steve’s part. Steve reached into the drawer of the bedside table and fished around for lip balm.The skin of Bucky’s lips felt fragile under Steve’s fingertips.He smeared the lip balm over them as lightly and gently as he possibly could, but he was still terrified that he was going to make them bleed again, or that the tingly, menthol cold he could feel where the lip balm was left on his fingers would frighten Bucky the way cold water had. 

Bucky wasn’t acting upset, but he didn’t seem more comfortable either.When Steve returned from putting the washcloth back in the bathroom sink Bucky was sat forward, watching the doorway with no trace of an expression, let alone a familiar one, on his face.

He walked back into Bucky’s room and knelt down next to him, “do you feel up to some food?”

Nothing.

“Bucky, are you hungry?”

Bucky nodded briefly, and then went still again. 

“That’s a good sign,” Steve encouraged.“Come into the kitchen, we’ll find you something to eat.”

Bucky had barely left his bed for two days, and Steve had thought it would be better for him to get up and move around, now that he was feeling a little better, but Bucky got out of bed, stood for a moment, and immediately collapsed forward.

Steve caught him before he could get anywhere near the ground.It was probably nothing.Bucky had probably just stood up too suddenly on an empty stomach, after lying down for too long.He would probably have been fine once he’d had a moment to adjust.But Steve slid the arm the wasn’t holding Bucky up under his knees and lifted him back into bed anyway.Bucky just let himself be moved and let Steve fuss with the pillows and rearrange the blankets over his legs.Steve would have preferred it if he’d struggled.

“Okay, never mind, you stay there and rest for a bit longer,” he said, although Bucky wasn’t giving any indication of doing otherwise.

 

Steve went into the kitchen and put the kettle on, and made toast, and mixed lemon juice and honey in the hot water, in case Bucky’s throat hurt and then took it all back into the kitchen.Bucky was still sitting in bed exactly how Steve had left him.Steve set the mug on the bedside table, using it to push the half-empty glass of water out of the way, and set the plate of toast in his lap.The plate was right next to Bucky’s hand, but he didn’t move to take it.His eyes moved over it, up to Steve’s face, just for a moment, than then settled on the on the blankets, looking down and away from both Steve and his breakfast.

“What’s the matter?Lost your appetite?” Steve asked him.

Bucky looked over at him again, just flickeringly, through his eyelashes, and then away again.

“You should try and eat something,” Steve said, nudging the plate over, into his line of sight.

Bucky tore the corner off one piece of toast and put it in his mouth.He kept his eyes fixed on Steve while he chewed, like he was expecting something to happen.Then, when Steve didn’t move, he abruptly shoved the rest of the toast into his mouth as fast as he could manage.Like he had just then realized that he was starving, or like he thought it could be taken away at any moment.Steve tried to smile encouragingly, but the expression didn’t feel quite right on his face.

“That’s right,” Steve mumbled, and handed him the mug full of lemon juice and honey, “that’s right, you’re alright.”

Bucky drank in the same weirdly mechanical way he had been for the last three days, picking up the mug, taking a drink, and then lowering it all the way back down before drinking again, so he looked like a marionette.

 

Steve kept on mumbling reassurances to Bucky that Bucky didn’t respond to until Bucky was finished with his drink.He actually stopped when it was done, instead of miming drinking out of an empty cup, which Steve thought must be an improvement.“Okay,” he said, taking the mug out of Bucky’s hand.“Okay, can you stand up?”

Bucky nodded, but didn’t move.

“Stand up now please,” Steve choked out.

Bucky swayed a little when he stood, but he kept his balance.Steve still kept a hand out, just in case, while he led Bucky to the bathroom.Bucky’s face crumpled when Steve opened the bathroom door.

“Hey,” said Steve, automatically reaching out and then pulling his hand away from Bucky’s at the last second when Bucky flinched, “what’s the matter?Its okay, its just a shower.You did this already and it was fine.Do you remember that?”

Bucky made a very small, very sad sound in his throat when Steve turned the shower on and Steve just couldn’t bear to see him look so frightened of something so utterly harmless so he kept his attention on making sure the water was properly warm and gentle, “don’t worry,” he said, “I know you don’t like it, we can, um, paint in here or something, you can pick some colours you like.That’ll be better, maybe?”

Bucky let Steve chivy him through undressing and bathing, but he seemed less engaged, somehow, than the last time.He stood under the water and made no real attempt to wash.When Steve, at a loss, gave up and did it for him, he was more unresponsive than patient.He seemed to relax just a little, while Steve washed his hair, like he had the last time, but by the time Steve had coaxed him back out of the hot water, changed his soaked shirt and brought Bucky back clean clothes, his fragile air of calm had evaporated and he was standing at parade rest again and watching Steve with wide, wary eyes.Steve had thought it would help, but once he was clean and wearing fresh clothes, Bucky still looked terrible.He looked fragile and vacant, and somehow small. 

“You’re doing great,” Steve chirped at him, because that was what Natasha had told him to do, while he cast about for something he could do to help Bucky feel more like himself. 

“Do you want to shave,” Steve asked.Bucky had always been clean-shaven, even when he’d been shooting at Steve on the helicarrier, more or less.It was strange to see him with his current scruffy beard. 

Bucky backed up and perched on the edge of the toilet and looked expectantly up at Steve.Steve dug a spare razor out of the drawer and offered it to Bucky along with a can of shaving cream, Bucky didn’t take them.Steve knelt down so that he and Bucky were on the same level.“Do you need some help,” he asked.

Bucky shrank; drawing back and hunching his shoulders forward. 

“Its okay,” Steve lied, “I can do it, just try and relax.”

Steve reached up and tucked Bucky’s hair back behind his ears, to keep it out of the way, but also to see if Bucky could cope with the contact.Bucky didn’t relax in any way Steve could detect, but he was still while Steve stroked his hair back and then gently smeared shaving cream over Bucky’s face, and down his neck. 

Steve had been shaving, quite successfully, for many years, and he knew all the planes and angles of Bucky’s face and it shouldn’t have been that difficult but he suddenly had no idea where his hands should go, or what he should do with them.He nearly managed, but then nicked the corner of Bucky’s mouth.

It was a tiny cut, just a single bead of blood under the edge of Bucky’s lower lip and Bucky didn’t even move, but it felt like the end of the world and the room suddenly blurred as Steve teared up involuntarily.

“I’m sorry Bucky, I’m sorry,” Steve gasped, blinking to clear his eyes.He wiped the drop of blood away with his thumb, and hastily swiped the remnants of the shaving cream off Bucky’s face, practically at the same time as he tugged him back up to his feet.“We can come out of here, now, I know you don’t like it.Come on now, we can leave now.”

Steve tugged Bucky down the hall and pushed him onto the couch so he wouldn’t have to tell him to sit down.Then he went and hid in the kitchen until he could exhale with out having to bite back a sob.Then he put the kettle on and made hot chocolate again so he would have a reason to have run off into the kitchen, even though he knew Bucky wasn’t going to ask.He went to add milk, and then realized that Sam had brought him half-and-half and grabbed that instead, because he’d thought that Bucky would look more like himself once he’s shaved, and he did, a little, but mostly there was just nothing to distract from how gaunt he looked, and how deep the circles under his eyes had got.

The anxiety from the bathroom seemed to have faded a little, because Bucky had gone from looking terrified back to staring vacantly at the wall just to the right of the television by the time Steve came back out with the hot chocolate.Bucky accepted the mug without a word and when Steve pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and tucked it around his shoulders he cuddled into it and started rubbing one corner between the fingers of his right hand again.Steve made a couple of attempts to talk to him and see how he was feeling, but Bucky didn’t, or couldn’t answer, and he seemed to take more comfort from the blanket than from anything Steve could think of to say.So Steve slowly sank into miserable silence punctuated by Bucky periodically coughing quietly.Bucky’s eyes kept darting away from their patch of wall towards Steve, and then back again.Steve smiled at him, when he caught him looking, and every single time, Bucky flinched and looked away.

There was just nothing he could do.Bucky wasn’t talking, he didn’t seem to want Steve to touch him, and Steve couldn’t think of anything else he could do to make him comfortable. Eventually Steve knelt down in front of Bucky, and got his attention and said, “I’m going to just go to my room for a second okay, I’m going to be just down the hall, and you can call, or come get me if you need anything at all.” 

Then he went to his room, shut the door, sat down on the bed and sobbed, and he stayed that way until the doorbell rang.


	9. Visiting

Natasha went back to her safe house before she went to see Steve.  She napped in lieu of actually sleeping, showered, changed, straightened her hair, and dabbed makeup over any hint that she’d driven through the night and was running on two hours of sleep.  She texted Clint as she gulped coffee and stuffed zucchini bread into her mouth.

 

NATASHA ROMANOV: City not on fire.Heading to SR now. :)

 

CLINT BARTON: That pie is for Steve, not for you.

 

NATASHA ROMANOV: :P

 

She didn’t text Steve until she’s standing outside his door with a box full of Clint’s baking propped on her hip.After forty-five seconds had elapsed, with no sounds audible from the front step, she gave up and rang the doorbell.Steve was slow to answer, and whatever had been delaying him, it hadn’t been stopping to wash his face.His eyes were puffy and there was tears and snot still smeared across his mouth where he’d done a desultory job of wiping them away. 

Natasha looked Steve right in the eye, cocked an eyebrow and pointedly didn’t mention the state of his face while she handed him her box and pushed her way inside, “this is from Clint.”

Steve, the ungrateful lump, didn’t even look at what Natasha had brought him.He abandoned it on the kitchen counter and rushed over to where Barnes was seated, slumped on the couch with a blanket around his shoulders like Steve had pulled him out of a fire.

“Bucky,” Steve said, kneeling in front of him and peering up at him, “Natasha’s here, do you remember Natasha?”

It took a bit more coaxing, but Barnes managed a flickering look in Natasha’s general direction.

“That’s good,” said Steve, “that’s right, Natasha’s a friend.”

She knew, as she watched Steve hover around Barnes stammering out an endless string of approvals, that he was following the exact instructions she’d given him to try to keep Barnes calm and biddable and Barnes did seem as close to calm as he was probably capable of.He also seemed to be in better health than the last time Natasha had seen him, although whether that was going to be helpful or very annoying in the short term, she couldn’t have said.Steve on the other hand, was starting to tear up again, and his hands, pointlessly adjusting the blanket around Barnes’ shoulders, didn’t seem entirely steady.

Offering comfort was not something Natasha did well.She went and cut them all slices of apple pie, because sweets was one of the very short list of comforts she knew could be extended to people other than Clint, Laura and the kids.And because the time it took her to slice the pie and run the microwave was time she didn’t have to see Steve’s poorly disguised tears, or Barnes’ vacant stare. 

Steve was suitably distracted by the pie for the two bites it took him to notice that Barnes hadn’t touched the plate Natasha had put in front of him on the coffee table.It took him a few tries to get Barnes to actually take it and eat, but whether because he was just too out of it to notice, or because he was afraid of some sort of reprisal, she couldn’t tell.He wasn’t giving her much to read.

Along with who Steve was, and what his name was, Barnes had also apparently forgotten what forks were for.There was a perfectly good one sitting on the edge of the plate, but Barnes, when he did eat, stuffed the pie into his mouth with his fingers in big sloppy bites like a starving animal, which might pretty much have been what he was. 

Steve watched him with a weird sort of smile on his face that didn’t sit right in Natasha’s chest and eventually she had to hand him his pie back when it was clear he’d totally forgot about it.

“When did you last go outside?” She asked him.

Steve looked from Barnes to her face, and then back again, with his eyes sort of wide and his mouth open and then said “Natasha”, like she’d just said a bad word.

Natasha elected to be forbearing, “You look like crap,” she said, “go outside and walk around until you feel like an actual human person again please.We don’t need you totally falling to bits.”

“Bucky needs me here,” Steve whined.

Natasha spared Barnes another glance, but he had gone back to staring into the middle distance and didn’t seem to have an opinion to offer.

“I can mind him for a few hours, it’ll be fine,” she said.

“I’d rather stay,” said Steve.

“Right,” said Natasha, without moving, “well, I’ll just go and come back in a few days to see if you’ve collapsed yet.”They stared at each other until Steve folded and looked away - more than ten seconds but less than twenty.Steve stood up and got a wash cloth and wiped Barnes hands, which were smeared with pie crumbs, without comment, looking at Natasha, or prompting Barnes to do it himself.Natasha wondered, idly, if that was because he didn’t think Barnes was up to it, or if he just wanted the excuse to cling to his hands for a moment.

“I’m going to go out for a couple of hours, okay Buck?I’ll be back real soon, and Natasha’s going to stay here. Okay?She’s going to look after you.And - and I’ll have my phone, and Nat can call me and I’ll come right back, and -“

Natasha cut him off by grabbing the back of his shirt and hauling him up and towards the door.He was doing it wrong.He still had hold of Barnes hands and he kept shifting to look into his eyes to keep his focus, clearly unable to see that Barnes was focusing just fine, and avoiding Steve’s gaze on purpose because he couldn’t tolerate the eye contact.Natasha couldn’t really blame Barnes for looking away.She always looked into people’s eyes, it was where all the best intel was, but right now Steve’s gaze was like falling into sucking mud.But if she explained that to Steve right now he’d cry again, and she wasn’t up to that. 

 

Only when Steve was safely shut out of the house did she go back and really look Barnes over carefully.He was slumped forward with his forearms resting on his knees, staring at the wall with no particular intensity.She could see why Steve, who had never submitted to anyone for any reason in his life, had mistaken what she could see was terror, for stupor.

“Do you know where you are?” she asked him.

It took a good fifteen seconds of silent, pained grimacing, for him to start speaking.“Report,” he mumbled, “maintenance.I - had to - report back.”

“Okay,” said Natasha, “good.Now, _where_ are you?”

“I don’t know,” Barnes admitted, and didn’t quite managed to hide a flinch.

Natasha gave him a smile, and said, “that’s right, you’ve never been here before.”

“But I had to -“ Barnes mumbled.

“You had to?” Natasha prompted.

“I had to,” Barnes repeated, lifting one hand and then dropping it again without really gesturing.“I knew him - but - that’s not right.”

He was starting to rock.

“That is right, you were good.You were good.” Natasha soothed. 

When that didn’t calm him, she picked up the blanket that had slid back onto the couch and put it back around him.It was a stunningly awkward thing to have to do for someone bigger than a child; she ended up bent over him with her hands over his shoulders.He sat back andpetted the corner of the blanket with his good hand.She couldn’t figure out what it was about it he liked so much, but he’d been doing it when she walked in, and it seemed to help.Seemed to give him comfort.

“Are you - comfortable?” Natasha asked, once he seemed to have settled down.

Barnes didn’t meet her eyes, but he looked at her face like perhaps he was trying to place it.“He… he… didn’t… hurt me.” He said.He looked calm; and totally baffled.

“Steve isn’t going to hurt you,” she said, a bit half-heartedly, and then added “I won’t hurt you.” Clint would have known what to do, and she wished she’d asked him to come back with her and sort this out, but it was too late for that now.Barnes didn’t seem reassured, if anything he seemed more confused by the statements.

Natasha didn’t bother with more questions.She knew dozens of ways to convince, coax, trick, seduce and scare information out of people and couldn’t think of a single one that would work on Barnes.He didn’t give her anything to use, or take anything from her that she could leverage.In the end she gave up and made coffee and then just sat next to Barnes and watched him while he drank it in silence.She poured enough cream into Barnes’ to erase all the bitterness of the drink.She left her’s black and immediately regretted it; Steve’s coffee was cheap and acidic.

 

Steve was actually gone for much longer than she’d expected, more than an hour and a half, and the wait got interminable.Barnes had nothing else to say, even with the coffee he seemed to be fighting sleep.By the time she heard him open the door she was grateful to have someone else to look at.Steve just rushed past her with barely a glance. 

“Hey Buck, how’re you doing?” asked Steve, “I, um, I brought you something.”

Steve fished a box out of the shopping bag he’d been carrying.

“Here, its a calendar, it… its supposed to help - if you’re having trouble with your memory.It, um, has pictures from National Parks, we always used to talk about going, and I thought it might, help you keep track of things.So, um, I’ll get this set up and you can look - at the rest of these later.” Steve said, pulling the calendar out of its box and pulling the extra pages off the front.“There, the 25th.”

Barnes actually picked the calendar up, turned it over in his hands, and looked at the picture of a lake emblazoned with “August 25, 2014”, until he nodded forward and had to jerk himself awake.

“Did Nat tire you out?” Steve asked, “come on, you can get some sleep.”

“No,” Barnes mumbled, abruptly curling up and clutching at his blanket, “please no.” 

“Bucky its alright,” Steve just about whimpered, “you just need to rest.Please tell me what’s the matter.”

Barnes curled up even further, and squeezed his eyes shut, “no more.No more ice, please.”

“Bucky,” Steve’s voice rose into a squeak.“No.No.I won’t put you in cryo, not ever.No one’s ever going to do that to you again.No more ice, never ever again, I promise.”

“No more,”said Barnes again.

“No more.” Steve said.

And then they just sat there and echoed each other a few more times, until Steve reached over and pulled Barnes upright with an arm around his shoulders.What Steve was doing was assisting.Natasha was fairly sure that what Barnes was doing was being dragged, but he still didn’t fight back, he didn’t even resist. 

She could hear Steve talking,“come on now Bucky, I need you to open you eyes, that’s good.See, no ice, nothing bad.This is your room.This is where you’re going to sleep now.Do you, understand?” 

There was a pause, in which in which Steve must have got, or at least perceived some sort of response, because he started talking again, “good, just give that to me and then you can lie down right here.Are you warm enough?” he asked.Natasha could hear the bedspring creak, and the rustle of Steve kneeling on carpet and adjusting blankets.

“Warm enough,” Barnes echoed.

“That’s good. Okay, I’m going to turn the light down a little, so you can sleep, and I’ll come and wake you when its dinner time.”

Natasha stuck her head out into the hall when she heard Steve stand up and then had to skip backwards to avoid being seen looking. Barnes was curled loosely on his side in bed, with the blankets drawn up over his shoulders.Steve had set the calendar he bought him on the bedside table in Barnes’ eye-line. She couldn’t have said whether or not he was actually looking at it.

 

“I’m sorry,” she said, once Steve had come back and sat down, heavy and slumped, “I know you hoped he’d know you.”

Steve was leant down onto his knees enough to actually look up at her through his eyelashes.“I know him,” he said, with a tight, agonized smile,“Its enough, to - to have him back.To know that he’s safe.”

He broke off, swallowed hard, and nodded sharply, like he was agreeing with some internal voice, or making himself agree. 

“I can help him - understand that he’s safe here,” Steve said tentatively, “that I’m not going to hurt him.”

“He know’s you’re not going to hurt him, he told me that,” Natasha said, even though it was probably overstating what Barnes had actually said to her.

“He spoke to you?That’s great,” Steve said, but his eyes looked hurt.“Did he say anything else?Is there anything I can do for him?”

“Well, he keeps saying that he knew you, I think he understands you’re someone important for him,” Natasha said, because it was the most positive thing she had to give him that wasn’t actually a lie.

“You think so?” Steve asked, like Natasha had given him a present.

“He’s only been here seventy-two hours,” Natasha said, “You’re going to have to give him a lot more time to get things back.”

“He can have all of it,” Steve said, automatically.

Natasha didn’t even know what he meant by that, she wasn’t completely sure Steve knew what he meant, “and maybe ease up on the eye-contact, I think he may be struggling with it a little.” She added, with painstaking airiness, as though it was something she had just now noticed, that no one could have been expected to see earlier.

“I can do that,” said Steve.

“Good,” said Natasha, “you’re doing great.” And it did not escape her that Steve had said the same thing to Barnes in more or less the same tone of voice.And he’d probably been being nearly as accurate too.

 

“They didn’t let him sleep,” Steve said, apropos of nothing, “I read it but I didn’t - I didn’t” he stopped and flailed his hands towards his face, miming pushing something into his head.“He must be so exhausted.”

There seemed to be something else that should have come after that sentence, butSteve didn’t say anything.Usually Natasha knew how to make an awkward silence work for her, but she must have used up all her tolerance for it with Barnes, so she immediately added, “being safe is new for him, Steve, he’s going to have to learn - relearn how to deal with it.” Which she hadn’t meant to bring up, and had to correct, because she was talking about Barnes, not Natalia Alianovna. 

Steve went even paler, so she should have smartened up and kept her mouth shut.

“I’m going to order some takeout,” Natasha said, because she couldn’t make him macaroni and cheese, but she could make it appear at the door, and that was going to have to be close enough.

But the food arriving just set Steve off again, demonstrating that Natasha could not be trusted to care for another person.

“I don’t want to wake him,” Steve fretted, bouncing on the balls of his feet and chewing his lip, with his eyes fixed firmly on the door to Bucky’s room, “but he needs to eat.”

“He can eat when he wakes up,” Natasha said, thumping the takeout boxes onto the table to draw Steve’s attention, “you’re going to eat now though.”

She prodded him into a kitchen chair and put two regular people worth of macaroni and salad and garlic bread on his plate, and then sat down in front of him with her own meal.It was uninspired and too greasy and she needed to find a better takeout place, clearly.

Steve ate.He didn’t seem phased by the food quality, and she was convinced he wouldn’t have bothered with a proper meal if she hadn’t been keeping an eye one him, and the thought made her tired.

“You have to eat and sleep Steve,” she said as she dumped her plate and cutlery into the sink.“Get out of crisis mode.”

Under the circumstances she was reasonably sure Clint would have done the dishes, and she knew Laura would have.She patted Steve briefly on the arm on the way out the door and left.

 

 

NATASHA ROMANOV: Please check on Steve in the next 24h, I can’t.

 

SAM WILSON: Will do, are you still away?

 

NATASHA ROMANOV: I’m here, I just can’t.

 

This was not strictly speaking a lie since it was true at the time she sent it, just after she left Steve’s.But it was not really true, because she then immediately texted Pepper.

 

NATASHA ROMANOV: Do you have time for coffee?Tomorrow?

 

PEPPER POTTS: I’ll clear my schedule.

 

She did catch a few hours sleep before she got back in the car and headed for New York.She did not text or call Maria, even though she knew it was stroppy and childish of her.

 

“How are you doing?” Pepper asked as she ushered Natasha out of the elevator and into a private kitchen.Not ‘how are you’, so there was already no point in trying to pass herself off as unbothered.

“Maria said you found Barnes,” Pepper mentioned, mildly, while she made coffee, “I’m guessing he’s what you wanted to talk about?”

“I don’t know who I’m here about,” Natasha admitted, “Barnes is just…” she stopped and waved a hand in front of her face, “there’s just not much there.Steve is - not coping.”

“What do you mean not much there?” Pepper asked, and pushed a latte across the counter towards her.So Natasha explained.Again.

“We could try to get them to come stay in the Tower,” Pepper offered, “there’s a lot of us here, relatively speaking, to keep an eye on things, and there’s JARVIS.And there are already enough doctors around that finding, I don’t know, a psychiatric nurse, or the equivalent wouldn’t be that hard if maybe a professional would be better?To handle things until Barnes is a bit more - himself?”Pepper paused, openly reading her face, before she continued, “I mean, its possible to send someone to where he is, but its trickier, especially with maintaining secrecy, which I’m assuming you want.”

“Honestly, I think that would be ideal.But there’s no way that Rogers is going to agree to it,” Natasha admitted, “he’s being really squirrely.”

“Well I’m sure I can figure something out to help him out a bit, and Tony will be delighted to try and convince him to come live here.I’ve been restraining him.He’s wanted you all here for ages, and the Insight business just encouraged him.”

“Is Tony going to be okay with _Barnes_ living here?” Natasha prodded.

“You know, he’s actually been very sensible about it.Its a bit strange.I don’t think he’ll be forgiving Nick Fury any time soon, but he’s had JARVIS trying to keep Barnes out of the press, as much as possible, since we found out who he was.”

“Well that’s - oddly mature,” said Natasha, who’d been mentally gearing up to referee a fight, possibly literally.

Pepper beamed fondly.

“Do _you_ want a bunch of superheroes moving in with you,” Natasha asked her over the rim of her coffee cup.

“Well there’s plenty of space, I’m not really that worried.I already have a separate apartment if I need it,” Pepper admitted, “and honestly it’ll be much easier to keep you all hidden behind the SI legal team if you’re, you know, hidden behind the legal team, and that will make me feel much better.” 

Then she got up and got cookies.Buttery, crumbling shortbread dusted with powder sugar, and ate them daintily without dropping a single crumbon her blouse or around her mouth.“Actually, I was going to let Maria fill you in on this, because its her project really, but since you’re here, Maria’s been working on reforming the Avengers, under SI.That way, if you need it, or if we need you, you’ll have funding, legal protections, equipment.Just so you’re aware.”

“Oh,” said Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is not much comfort in this chapter. I did not plan that. I'm sorry.


	10. Email

Steve woke up the next morning in a blur of the tail end of a dream he couldn’t remember, but which left him with a lingering sense of disquiet.  Like something was just about to happen.  He went to check on Bucky while he was still rubbing sleep out of his eyes and found him lying still, curled on his side facing away from the door.  He wanted to go lie down next to him, like they’d used to.  But he didn’t.  Instead he paced around, not able to find anything useful to do, or to settle enough to draw.  He stopped long enough to eat breakfast  when his stomach nagged at him. 

He went to check on Bucky again after that.Bucky had barely eaten the night before, and Steve hadn’t been willing to tell him to.He was terrified that he was going to make him sick if he did, and it was a horrible to thing to have to do anyway.Steve did understand that he needed to tell Bucky to do these things; to stand up and sit down and eat and bathe and sleep.However much he wanted to disbelieve it, it was inescapably apparent that Bucky wasn’t able to do any of these things without his prompting.But having to prompt Bucky - to order him, really, to do every little thing, was exhausting, and horrifying, and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep it up.

Steve had meant to go in and wake Bucky up.Bucky was still lying still on his side, but when Steve moved around the bed he could see that his eyes were already open.How long had he been lying there like that?He knelt down so he was closer to Bucky’s level and tried hard not to look right into his eyes, like Natasha had told him to not to do. 

“Hey,” he said, “did you sleep at all?”

Bucky’s eyes went wide.He nodded frantically, “I was good,” he mumbled, “I was good.”

“Y-yeah,” said Steve, because he didn’t even know what Bucky meant by that, “yeah.You’re doing really well.You can try and sleep again after breakfast.If you want to.Everything’s going to be okay.”

Bucky let himself be chivied out of bed and fed toast and fruit he didn’t touch until Steve told him to.And then he just, sat there.

Steve knelt down in front of Bucky again.He didn’t know if it actually made him seem less threatening to Bucky, but it still seemed like the right thing to do.“Bucky?Are you in any pain?”

Bucky gave him a little headshake, as his eyes passed briefly over Steve’s face and settled just over his shoulder.

“Do you feel sick?Nauseous?”

No response.Did that mean he didn’t feel sick?Or that he did, but he wasn’t going to admit it?Or that he couldn’t admit it?He wasn’t pale, or doubled up and Steve left it alone.

“Bucky, are you tired?”

Bucky nodded, and slumped into his apparently habitual forearms-on-knees position.

“Okay,” said Steve, and tugged Bucky to his feet by one elbow, “come back to bed then.”

The sheets on the bed were crumpled and disorganized. Bucky had spent most of three days lying in them.So Steve steered Bucky into a chair instead and changed the bedding, realizing that he should have done it the night before.And he’d forgotten to change the page on the calendar, so he did that too.

“There,” Steve said, pulling the comforter, and a couple of extra blankets back to coax Bucky into the freshly made bed, “you’ll be more comfortable now.Try to sleep.It’ll all be better when you’re not so tired.”

Bucky withdrew into the blankets, and pressed his face into the pillows, and shut his eyes. 

Steve smoothed out the blankets, turned the lights down, and left the room with the door shut, so that Bucky could at least try to fall asleep.And then paced around uselessly, trying to think of something, of anything he could do to help.

 

When Steve gave up and settled down enough to retrieve his cell phone and got around to checking his email he found an email that Tony must have dictated, if only because Steve couldn’t imagine him sitting still for long enough to type it.

 

> Cap
> 
> Glad you’re not dead after you totally fell off the map.Again.Hill finally let me know where you’ve been, and what you’ve been doing.So, good job on finding your friend.Admittedly, it would probably have been faster and easier if you’d known, say, a brilliant tech genius with virtually unlimited resources who could help you out.Too bad you don’t know anyone like that.Oh wait, you do, and yet did you ask me?No. Rude.I forgave you for not including me in your helicarrier crashing party, because I figured, hey, high-stress situation, not a lot of time, these things happen.But this is getting downright unfair and I’m beginning to feel neglected.No-longer-agent Hill refuses to tell me where you actually are, so I assume you’re in some sort of hole.That’s clearly a terrible idea, but I’ve accepted that you have terrible judgement.You need to get over that and move back to New York.The Tower is totally better than wherever you are.We have all the amenities, and doctors which I guarantee are non-evil, if your fellow soldier-cicle needs one, or, three, or whatever, Pepper’s been looking it up, I’ve been ignoring it, I hate doctors. I’ve got a whole floor set aside just for you and its been there for, like, a year, and if you don’t come and at least have a look I’m going to think you don’t like me or something.And you can totally bring your friend with the wings because he seems cool.Also I should mention we have a truly unimaginable number of lawyers in case someone gets all pissy about you dropping airships on DC, or you know, in case someone decides to blame your friend for all the brainwashed Hydra murder stuff.Also I don’t blame your friend for all the brainwashed Hydra murder stuff.Promise.Although I totally want to see how that arm works.I can totally make it better.You can pretty much show up whenever.Or if you want I’ll send you a car.Or a plane.Gimme a call right now immediately.
> 
> Tony
> 
> PS. Bruce loves it here.
> 
> PPS. Natasha and Pepper both think its a good idea and they have great judgement, much better than yours, anyway.

> Tony Stark
> 
> Stark Industries head of R&D

 

There was a second email from Pepper sent only a few minutes after Tony’s.

>  
> 
> Dear Steve,
> 
> I hope you’re well. 
> 
> I have access to the Stark Industries email servers, so I can see that Tony has already contacted you, but unfortunately, I can’t unsend the email, so I’m going to have to assume that you’ve already read it.I apologize for Tony.He means well, he really does. 
> 
> You, Sam and James are all completely welcome to come and stay at the Tower if you want.We’d be happy to have you and honestly I think it would be a good idea.But please don’t feel pressured, no matter what Tony says. 
> 
> In the mean time I’ve sent you a few things which I hope will make you’re life a bit easier.There’s some basic necessities I suspect you’re probably missing, a few books that might be helpful references, and a few odds and ends that Dr. Banner says can be helpful with stress; some notebooks, some tea, stress toys.They’re not exactly professional help, but I didn’t think they could hurt, and if they aren’t helpful, just leave them.I’ve also arranged to have some meals and groceries delivered, which I hope will be one less thing for you to worry about.I’ve set the deliveries up so they won’t ring the door bell or bother you, they’ll just leave things on the doorstep at about ten in the morning, every other day. 
> 
> If there’s anything else you need, including professional help, please don’t hesitate to write or call at any time.I’m sure we can set something up, including at your home, if that would make you more comfortable.And once again, you’re very welcome to come and stay whenever you like,for as long as you need.
> 
> Best wishes to you and James,
> 
> Pepper
> 
> Virginia Potts, MBA
> 
> Stark Industries CEO

 

It was funny, seeing someone use Bucky’s given name again.He’d never used it with Steve, or with the Commandoes, and actually, he’d never been that attached to it.But then, at some point, it seemed to have gotten lost; even the Smithsonian exhibit’s narration, and SHIELD’s Wall’s of Valour, had just called him Bucky.Steve hadn’t really thought about it, at the time.But in light of, well, everything, it seemed demeaning to deny him his full name, even if he’d hardly ever used it.Seeing it Pepper’s email was oddly soothing.

It was 10:26.Steve checked the doorstep and found two neatly stacked boxes; a larger one from Amazon, and another one on top from a local grocery store.He busied himself with the immediate chore of putting the groceries into the fridge.There were a few basics, milk, cream, eggs, apples, loaves of bread, and a lot more organized in meals, either frozen or waiting to be assembled.He immediately felt better, as a problem he hadn’t even been consciously worried about resolved.

In the other box were stacks of clothes that looked like they would fit Bucky pretty well, and new toiletries.Underneath those were a set of things that looked a bit like colourful puzzle toys, which Steve supposed were the stress toys Pepper had mentioned but which didn’t look especially relaxing.A stack of books which all had either ‘anxiety’ or ‘PTSD’ in the titles, which he set aside to read later, two slim black notebooks, like the one he used to keep track of things he hadn’t seen and references he didn’t get, but much less battered, and then at the bottom was a beautiful sketchbook made of heavy, creamy paper, with a marbled cover, and a set of coloured pencils.Which hadn’t been in the email. 

“Thank’s Ms Potts,” he mumbled, and felt himself blush a bit, even though no one else was in the room.

Steve had actually only met Pepper Potts once, and briefly.Tony had badged him into meeting her just a couple of weeks after New York.Tony obviously adored her. She’d been kind, and friendly and so casually gracious that Steve had immediately gotten flustered.Most of what he knew about her was via Natasha, supplemented by Google.He knew that she used to be Tony’s PA, and now ran his company, he didn’t really understand business things, but he gathered she was good at it.Some people on the internet said some really terrible things about her, but people on the internet said some really terrible things about pretty much everyone, so that didn’t mean anything.He knew Natasha considered her a friend, and a reliable one.But Pepper wasn’t his friend, really.Even calling Tony his friend was actually a bit of a stretch.

He didn’t understand what he could have done to merit this level of generosity.Pepper probably had a lot of money, and Tony had more money than Steve could actually comprehend.To them, this huge pile of totally practical, necessary, unasked for gifts, probably wasn’t that big of a deal, but there was still a part of his mind that recoiled from anything that could be construed as charity, and right at that moment, it was flinching really, really hard.

Putting Bucky’s new clothes away was going to involve removing his remaining clothes from Bucky’s room, and he wasn’t going to start banging drawers around while Bucky was trying to sleep, so he refolded a few items that had gotten mussed, and piled them up on one side of the couch.He stuck the tea in the kitchen and the toiletries in the bathroom, and stacked the books up on the coffee table.And then immediately started to worry that having them all out and piled up would make Bucky feel like someone’s project and took them to his room with the new sketchbook.He didn’t really know what to do with the stress toys.They didn’t look very useful, and they didn’t stack nicely, and eventually he just left them on the coffee table so he could put the box in the recycling. 

Then, with nothing left to do, he went to check on Bucky again. 


	11. Disorders of Will

Sam had received Natasha’s ominous text about Steve late on Monday evening, but he had a full day’s worth of clinic on Tuesday, and while the VA had been really, remarkably good about him taking a superhero related leave of absence, skipping out on work with no notice was a whole other thing, and he wasn’t planning to go there unless there was a real emergency.So far, there wasn’t.He finished off the day, filed the last report with his supervisor and went back to his house, and watched an episode of Cake Boss while he ate dinner in a probably futile attempt to not take work with him when he went to visit Steve. 

 

Steve actually did answer his door when Sam texted ‘I’m outside’, which actually was an improvement, even though he looked incredibly owlish, Sam wondered if he’d slept. 

“Hey man,” said Sam, “thought I’d stop by and see how you were doing.”

“Uh, come in,” said Steve.

The house was still quiet and pretty tidy, but there was a pile clothes on one side of the couch, and brightly coloured stress toys strewn across the coffee table which definitely hadn’t been there on Sunday when he’d last been in the house.They didn’t really seem Steve’s style, given that Steve’s usual style was heavy on repression and denial.Steve had one in his hand, a length of colourful plastic he was twisting around on itself.

“Those are new,” Sam commented, nodding to the stress toys.

Steve immediately went crimson and dropped the toy he was holding.

_And this is why they don’t leave you alone with any clients yet Wilson_.Sam mentally grumbled, and tried to redirect.“Is Bucky in his room?”He asked.

“Yeah,” Steve mumbled, “he’s resting - or - trying to, I guess.He just can’t seem to stay asleep.I don’t know if its okay for him to be in bed all day though - you lose all track of time like that.”He peered up at Sam through his eye-lashes, obviously hoping for some advice.But that was the whole problem.

“Within my experience,” Sam said, “sleep is better than not sleep - ”

There was a soft sobbing sound from down the hall, and Steve cut him off by jerking up and skidding into Bucky’s room like he’d started screaming. 

Bucky was sitting bolt upright in bed with his fingers tangled in his hair and his eyes darting all over, obviously just coming out of a nightmare or a flashback. 

“Bucky, Bucky its alright, you’re just having a bad dream, its time to wake up now,” Steve said, turning the lights on, and babbling at him until Bucky eventually looked in his direction and seemed to come around a little bit.

Sam could see what Steve meant about him being short on sleep, he looked beyond exhausted, but Sam’s actual first thought, was that he’d expected it to be much worse.Maybe it had been earlier, he’d have to ask, but Bucky wasn’t violent, which was what he was actually worried would happen, he’d calmed down pretty quickly, he wasn’t even screaming his head off. 

“Its okay now,” Steve said, “just lie down, try and go back to sleep.”

Bucky immediately laid back down, and let Steve come and tuck him in.Which would have been more encouraging if Natasha hadn’t explained that he probably obeyed orders automatically, and if Steve hadn’t just inadvertently set him up to fall straight back into whatever nightmare he’d just finished having.

Sam caught Steve’s eye and nodded him into the hall. 

Steve, sat down on the couch, looking miserable.“I just - I don’t know what else to do for him.”

“Well, sleeping pills are still an option, at least in the short term, but Steve,” Sam said, “has it occurred to you that you’ve done everything you can do?Because at some point that’s going to happen.”

Sam picked up one of the stress toys, a squishy teal ball, and started tossing it from hand to hand and squeezing it. 

“But -“ Steve said, “but there has to be… what happens, if there’s nothing left I can do?”

And oh fuck, they were really going to have to have this whole conversation.

“Usually, that would be the point where you start considering getting a professional involved,” Sam said, and gave his stress ball an extra hard squeeze.

“Could you-“ Steve started.

“Steve, I can’t be Bucky’s therapist,” Sam cut him off.“I know you think it would make things easier.But I can’t.I mean, even setting aside the fact that I’m a couple of years away from being able to be anyone’s therapist, there are really serious rules against doing therapy on people you know.Like, lose you license serious.And honestly, even I was allowed, I still wouldn’t, because those rules are there for a reason.Man you do not even want to know the things that can happen when that rule gets broken.”

“Sam I’m so sorry,” Steve said, looking totally horrified.Like he’d actually done something bad, instead of just asking a question Sam had been expecting, and had had to answer before.

“Relax man,” Sam said, “its fine. You didn’t know, and know you do.”

“I suppose I should-” Steve starts, “I mean - Pepper said, and now you, and-“

“Pepper?Pepper Potts Pepper?” Sam asked.

Steve blushed, nodded and stopped talking, and Sam mentally deducted marks from himself again, but damn, every time he thought he was over Superhero Shock someone else’s name came up.

“What did Pepper say about a therapist, and also, when?” Sam asked.

“She, emailed this morning, I’ll, um, I’ll show you,” said Steve, and went and got his laptop.

“I like this lady,” Sam said, once he’d finished reading the email, “she’s seems smarter than all the rest of you put together.You should at least consider taking her up on this Steve.”

It wasn’t going to happen.Sam could see that on Steve’s face as soon as he finished speaking. 

“I dunno, I mean, moving’s a really big deal and -“

“And the idea of finding a therapist still freaks you out?” Sam suggested.

Steve deflated, and nodded, and Sam actually felt bad for pushing him about it but this was verging on getting out of hand, and while Steve might have been able to get away with avoiding actual psychological help indefinitely, Bucky couldn’t. 

“Look, why don’t you go out and clear your head a bit, and think it over, and pick up some sleeping pills, and you can at least give them a shot.I’ll stay here and keep an eye on things.” Sam suggested, and squeezed his stress ball while he watched Steve screw up his face instead of answering.

“Okay,” Steve said, eventually, so either he’d actually come round to the idea, or he’d just failed to figure out a passable excuse, “I’ll um, I’ll just wait until Bucky wakes up though, I don’t want him to wake up and not know where I am.”

Sam would have bet money that this was more about Steve’s issues than Bucky’s, given that Bucky had barely acknowledged any of them, but it was also not really worth arguing about.So they sat in vaguely awkward silence until Bucky came around again.It didn’t take very long, Steve apparently hadn’t been exaggerating about Bucky having trouble sleeping. 

“I’m going to go out for just a little while, okay Bucky?” Steve asked, without getting a response, “why don’t you come and sit up out in the living-room for a little while?Is that okay?Are you too tired?”

Bucky didn’t actually speak, but he got up.Even though he looked sleepy and vacant, he wasn’t shaking, or unsteady, but Steve still kept an arm out, not quite touching him, like he thought might fall.Which was a little unnerving.

 

Sam spent a few moments reassuring Steve that Bucky was going to be fine sitting on the couch with Sam present, while Steve wasn’t there, and then sat down to do something stupid and bordering on unethical.Technically, at least so he told himself, what he was planning wasn’t therapy, and his professional ethics were, at least technically, intact. Yes, it was a bad idea.Sam knew it was a bad idea.But Steve was behaving really strangely, and Sam actually didn’t trust him to tell anyone how well Bucky was or wasn’t functioning, because he didn’t trust Steve to actually know and someone had to.

“Hi there,” he said to Bucky, sitting down facing him, “do you remember me at all.” 

Bucky wasn’t making eye contact, but after a minute he tugged his sleeve up and held his wrist out to Sam, “You were here… before,” he mumbled.The drawn out sentence ended with a little sigh, like he had just put down something heavy.But it answered the question of if he was making new memories, which Sam was honestly wondering about.

“Yes,” said Sam, and he took Bucky’s wrist, and rather pointlessly took his totally normal pulse, “thank you.Can I ask you some questions?”

Bucky shifted to face Sam and sat up a bit, and sort of nodded, which was not encouraging.Sam continued anyway.Six questions.Bucky could handle six questions.

“Can you tell me your name?”

The most basic question Sam had ever been taught to ask anyone ever, was apparently a bad place to start.Bucky screwed up his face and pressed his eyes closed, and Sam was on the verge of trying to distract him before he got any more upset when he finally looked up at him and asked, “Bucky?”

“Yeah,” said Sam, even though it wasn’t a good answer, “can you tell me where you are?”

“I had to… report… here.I had to,” Bucky said, which was didn’t answer the question and was barely coherent besides.

“Okay, that’s good,” Sam lied, to keep the conversation moving, “can you tell me what the date is.”

That got a head shake.

“Don’t worry about it, how about the year, do you know what year this is?Or which month?”

“Its summer,” Bucky offered.

“It is,” Sam agreed.

And then he sat there, and tried to figure out what to do.He’d had something resembling a plan when he’d sat down, but he was thrown by how disoriented Bucky was.Once Sam stopped asking him questions Bucky slumped forward slightly stopped looking at him.Stopped looking at anything.The entire pile of stress toys Pepper had sent was directly in his line of vision, but they didn’t seem to be drawing any of his attention. Something about the way he was holding himself was just - off.But Sam couldn’t put a name to why, and of course, there was probably three dozen things wrong with the guy, and he wasn’t going to figure any of them out with a neuropsychology test he only barely remembered how to give. Every bit of training he had got as a therapist-to-be had teamed up with every bit of paramedic’s skill and experience to tell him that it was time to hand Barnes off to someone up the ladder.Except someone had knocked over his damn ladder.

“So, this wasn’t my best idea ever, was it,” he said.

Bucky said nothing.

Three more questions.Sam reached out and rested his hand on Bucky’s forearm and said, ‘hey’ a few times until he was reasonably sure Bucky was actually listening to him again before he asked, “I’d like to ask you something, to test your memory.Is it okay if I do that?”

Bucky sat up and nodded, but he didn’t look all that happy about it. 

“I’m going to tell you some words okay, and then I want you to remember them and say them back to me.Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, without inflection.

Sam attempted tosmile encouragingly, “alright.Orange, Bird, Potato, Sand, Flower, Coffee, Funny.”

“Alright. Orange. Bird. Potato. Sand. Flower. Coffee. Funny.”

Sam filed that aways to bring up as a hypothetical in his next neuropsychology lecture. I mean, was that eight items and technically above average, or failing to follow instructions?Was he just giving the test wrong?He was probably giving it wrong.

Bucky cringed away from him and Sam realized that he was frowning, “you did a very good job,” he said, and smiled and tried to look as calm and reassuring as he could.“Do you, feel safe right now?”

It was like asking him his name all over again, Bucky screwed his face up and cringed, like the question was causing him actual, physical pain.Maybe it was.

“Its okay,” Sam said, hurriedly, “you don’t have to answer, I won’t be mad.You can stop.Let’s, lets just - lets just try something else.Are are in pain?”

The redirect worked, in that Bucky settled down a little bit, and he shook his head but the way he was fixedly not making eye-contact when he did made Sam wonder if he was lying about it, and God he looked tired.So Sam was left with nearly five minutes to kill before he could finish his memory test and let it alone.This had been such a bad idea.

He started sorting through the stress toys, giving Bucky a running commentary on which one he liked best, just to fill the air.

Bucky gave every appearance of totally ignoring him and eventually jerked up and wandered into the bathroom.Sam heard the toilet flush, and when he came back his hands were damp so he could do at least something without being prompted.Sam stood up before Bucky could sit back down.

“Are you tired?” he asked

“Tired,” Bucky replied.

Was that agreement?Was it echolalia?Was there any way of telling?

“Okay,” said Sam, “I think you’ve done lots, how about you rest now.”

Bucky seemed to brighten up a little as soon as he was back in bed.He curled up into the bedding so the edges of the blankets were pressed against his cheek.He seemed to be getting something from - Sam guessed - the texture, or maybe the extra warmth.He was the calmest Sam had seen him, he even had something approaching a real facial expression.

Sam decided to chance giving him a pat on the shoulder, “if sleeping isn’t really happening, just resting isn’t a bad option.”

He wasn’t sure if Bucky actually registered what he said, but he’d shut his eyes, he looked comfortable, and Sam was out of juice.He was just done.

 

Steve got back not long after that, with, as requested a packet of sleeping pills, and seemed kind of at a loss when he found Bucky already sleeping, “but he, was okay?” He asked, “he was okay?”

Sam walked over and pulled Steve into a hug, which Steve leant into without returning.

“He was okay,” Sam said, “you’re both doing okay.”

“Are you going to stay? Steve asked into Sam’s shoulder.

It kind of sounded like _please don’t go_ , but Sam was _tired_.He had a full day of work to prepare for and he’d just effectively put in a few hours of overtime after he’d promised himself that he wouldn’t.

“No, I’ve gotta go home now,” said Sam, “you’re doing great.But you need to have dinner and sleep.No matter what’s going on with Bucky, you need to do that, and you need to promise me that you will at least reply to Pepper.”

“I will,” said Steve.

 

It wasn’t until Sam was halfway down the street that he remembered he’d never finished giving his stupid memory test.

 

Sam had planned to spend the evening actually relaxing, maybe even answering a few of the phone messages his entire extended family had been leaving him for weeks.What he did instead, was sit in his living room and fume at Natasha for tapping out and leaving him to handle Steve by himself.He had his phone out and was working up the nerve to call her and tell her that when he remembered that even though he was the only person left on site, there was someone else he could call.Maria Hill. 

He didn’t know Maria all that well, but in the limited time he’d spent with her, she’d seemed like the sort of person he’d be happy reporting to, and he didn’t really want to start an argument with Natasha when he had another option.

“Sam, hello,” said Maria, on the first ring, “how are you?”

“I’m - fine,” said Sam.

“Well you sound exhausted.Is Steve giving you grief?” Maria asked.

“I - I don’t even know,” Sam admitted.

“Oh,” said Maria, and then, after a beat, “are you by a computer, I’ll get everyone, we can all talk.”

“Yeah, I’ll turn on Skype,” Sam agreed.

 

When he did, Maria was sitting around a table with Pepper Potts, who he recognized from magazine covers, and Natasha.

“So you’re not here,” Sam said, before he could think better of it.

Natasha immediately looked away and mumbled, “sorry.”

Sam didn’t feel as gratified by the apology as he thought he would.

“Hello,” said Ms Potts, “I’m Pepper Potts, we haven’t been introduced, but Maria says good thing.”

“Ms Potts, nice to meet you,” said Sam.

“Call me Pepper,” she said airily, “its nice to meet you.”

“Uh,” said Sam intelligently, “sorry about the timing.

“Don’t worry about it.I already sent Steve some things, but if there’s anything you need, or anything else would be useful, I’m happy to help.Tony is not the only person around here who throws money at problems, I’m afraid.”

“I saw,” said Sam, “it was generous of you, but I’m good.I just don’t think Steve is handling things well.”

“You’re the second person who’s said that to me,” said Pepper, “why don’t you walk me through what’s going on.”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Sam admitted, “I don’t think Steve is really thinking straight, and, I don’t - I mean, I can’t make him ask for help if he thinks he doesn’t need it, or its a bad idea.”

Maria and Pepper exchanged unsurprised glances, and seemed to hand off control of the conversation.Natasha was still not making eye contact.

“Sam, I know you can’t get involved professionally, and I realize I’m probably pushing some boundaries here, but can you tell me anything at all about the state Barnes is in?”

“He’s not sleeping, he couldn’t tell me where he was, or the date or his full name.And he’s - its like he’s having trouble reacting to things,” Sam explained, grateful to have someone to give that information to.

“You think he’s catatonic?” Maria asked.

“Maybe, or, I don’t know - brain injury patients get apathetic some times, it could be something more like that, but this is way, way beyond anything I know how to handle.If it were _anyone_ else, I’d be phoning around for open hospital beds, but I just can’t see that ending well.”

“If we can get them to come to the Tower I can line up a neurologist, a psychiatrist, and whoever else we need,” Pepper said decisively.

Sam appreciated her saying ‘we’, he really did.

“I’ll get my hands on some sedatives and drive down in the morning,” Natasha cut in, finally looking back up, “you said Barnes wasn’t sleeping and I’ve seen Rogers’ medical notes and over the counter drugs won’t cut it.You’d be surprised how much knocking someone out for a few hours can help.I’d suggest just drugging them both and shipping them up here, but Steve would never speak to any of us again.”

She got up and walked away before Sam could comment on how profoundly uncomfortable that statement made him.

“Is she okay?” Sam asked.

“Just let her handle herself,” said Maria, “that usually works best, with Natasha.”

“Its just -“ Sam started, “she seems really shaken up.”

“So do you,” said Maria, “Natasha will be okay, you’re already doing lots.Is the VA giving you any trouble?”

“Actually they’ve been oddly helpful.I’m settling back into work, its all fine.How are you?” Sam asked.

“Unimpressed by your transparent redirect,” said Maria.She crossed her arms, and very subtly raised one eyebrow.

Sam smiled appealingly at her, and shrugged, “I’m doing alright,” he said, “its just… this is so totally beyond me,which is one thing when its superhero stuff but, I mean - I’ve seen how bad it can get, when people get in over their heads trying to look after someone who needs more help than they can actually give them.That’s all.”

Maria looked from Sam, to Pepper, to the direction Natasha had exited in, and then back to Sam, “It’s not a great idea for me to be in DC right now,” she admitted, “but if things - deteriorate, you can give me a call.I’m going to go catch Natasha and tell her the same thing.”

She got up and left, leaving Sam alone on the call with Pepper Potts, who suddenly seemed that much more intimidating.Pepper’s phone buzzed insistently against the table next to her hand.She picked it up, glowered at it, stabbed the screen with one finger, and set it down again.

“I’ve dodged this call once already to day,” she admitted, “I’m going to have to call him back soon, and I don’t want to pry.But while I’m vetting doctors, do you want me to find you anyone in DC?”

Sam was momentarily taken aback, not by what she was offering, but by the fact it had actually occurred to her to ask.

“I’m actually spoken for on that front,” Sam reassured her, “but thank you.”

Pepper’s phone buzzed again.

“Don’t worry,” said Sam, “I’ve got some calls of my own to make.”

“Well I hope they’re less frustrating than this promises to be,” said Pepper, “have a nice night Sam.”

She ended the call.

Sam checked the time.It was 9:30 PM, past niece bedtimes.

He called his sister.


	12. Apologies

“JARIVS, where’s Natasha?” Maria asked, as soon as she left Sam and Pepper to finish their conversation.

“Ms. Romanoff is currently on the medical floor,” JARVIS responded in his perennially unconcerned artificial voice.To her left, an elevator door slid open automatically.Maria was used to that by now and stepped into it with a little nod of thanks.

The elevator took her directly to the medical floor where Natasha was rifling through a cupboard with an obviously forced padlock hanging from one door handle.

“You know, I could probably have unlocked that for you,” Maria said to the back of Natasha’s head.

“It’s fine,” said Natasha, “it wasn’t a very good lock.You needed to replace it anyway.”

“Nat,” said Maria, more forcefully.

Natasha finally turned to look at her, even though she didn’t look very pleased about it.

The thing about Natasha was that she was a fantastic liar.If she really didn’t want Maria to notice that she was upset, she’d have at least taken a swipe at speaking to her normally.The avoidance was performative.Of course, Natasha being who and what she was, Maria was actually a bit relieved that Nat was at least comfortable enough to show her feelings, even if it was by refusing to talk to her.

“I get it it,” said Maria, “I wouldn’t want to talk to me either, you don’t need to explain.I just wanted to let you know that I want to stay out of DC if I can, but if you need help with Steve, I _will_ come down.And if you want me in the mean time, I’m two floors down from here.”

Then she turned and left so Nat could have her space.

 

Natasha didn’t come down that evening, but in the morning, when Maria wandered out of her room in the direction of the coffee machine Natasha was perched on a stool at her kitchen island with two mugs of coffee in front of her.Which was off-putting, but Maria could identify an apology when she saw one.

Natasha made good coffee, but she didn’t make good anything else, so Maria gulped two-thirds of her coffee and got back up to start scrambling eggs, while Natasha made more coffee.

“So how are Laura and the mini-hawks?” Maria asked.

“Doing well, still safely off the record,” said Natasha.

“I got a check-in from Clint, but my phone is being tapped by every agency I’ve ever heard of and a couple I’m pretty sure were invented specially.So I’ve been keeping my distance.”

“Everyone’s happy, Clint is building the kids a playhouse in the basement, Laura will probably be praying for an alien invasion any day now,” Natasha said.

Maria took a bite of her breakfast burrito and considered her next words carefully.

“Stark wants to pull the Avengers back together,” she said, “Pepper thinks its a good idea.So I’m looking into it.Might spare Laura some stress.”

“Pepper warned me,” Natasha admitted.

“Don’t get too excited,” said Maria, “so far its just me and a room full of Stark’s lawyersBut I was hoping to get Dr Foster and Dr Selvig down here, see if we can find Thor.Banner’s already here.I’ll see if Clint will come back, and you, I hope.I was going to ask Rogers and Wilson, but I’m not so sure now…”

“Have you heard from Melinda?” Natasha asked.

“She’s fine,” Maria said, “she’s otherwise engaged though.”

“Well that’s not so bad,” said Natasha.The way the relaxed into the statement made Maria wonder if she’d thought Melinda was dead.

“I really am going to try and get Steve up here,” Natasha continued, “I don’t know aboutgetting him back into the Avengers at the moment.But you should definitely ask Wilson.”

Natasha pushed herself off her stool and took both the coffee mugs to refill them.Maria looked at the slope of Natasha’s shoulders as she added sugar to the coffee mugs.

“Is he really that bad?” she asked.

“I don’t know,” said Natasha, “but he’s not going to be happy with me if I drug his friend.”

She came back to the island and handed Maria’s coffee mug back to her.Maria caught her hand.

“Good luck,” she said, “I really will come if you need me.”

“Thank you,” said Natasha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is totally 100% just me tying off this plot thread.


	13. Impasse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there may actually be plot in this chapter. I'm as surprised as you are.

When Sam got home from work, Natasha was waiting in his driveway.

“I was going to go see Steve,” she said, “I could use some backup.”

“Is it an emergency, or do I have time for coffee first?” Sam asked.

“Oh,” said Natasha, “Right. Yeah, you have time.”

That was when Sam knew that there was about to be Trouble.

The realization made coffee and a snack less appealing than just getting into Natasha’s car and getting whatever was about to happen over with. But that would mean doing it in ahaze of low blood sugar, which wasn’t going to help anyone.

He unlocked the door and waved Natasha inside ahead of him. She walked in, slid out of her shoes, and sat at his kitchen table, in the same seat she’d sat in before Insight.

Wanting actual food, but also wanting to hurry, Sam put on coffee and threw together a few sandwiches out of lettuce and the remnants of two different packs of sandwich meat, that wouldn’t have impressed his mom, but still basically counted as food. Natasha accepted a cup of coffee, but waved away the offer of a sandwich. Which might have meant that she wasn’t impressed by them either, but just as easily could have been because she wasn’t hungry. Sam leant on the kitchen counter while he gulped his coffee and PB & J, because sitting at the table felt like it might invite a conversation and he didn’t feel like having one.

 

They drove to Steve’s house in total silence.

 

Whatever had happened in the last two days, things had obviously deteriorated. There was a lingering delay between ringing the doorbell and Steve answering the door again. When they did get inside, Bucky was sprawled on the couch, looking vacant and exhausted, and from the number of times Steve had to say his name to get his attention, he had slipped from sluggish and tired to something more like catatonic.

“Steve, stop that,” Natasha said sharply, when Steve wouldn’t stop hovering and trying to get a response.

When Steve moved out of the way, Sam knelt down in front of Bucky. He was paler than he had been, and his eyes looked sunken and unfocused. His breathing was easy, and his pulse seemed steady, but he didn’t respond at all when Sam picked up his hand to check it.

“I have sedatives that should work on him,” said Natasha. She was staring straight into Steve’s eyes.

“What the hell Nat?” Steve snarled.

“He’s exhausted,” said Natasha, “look at him.”

“I’m not going to just let you drug him,” said Steve, looking disgusted. Even though he’d been worrying to Sam about exactly that forty-eight hours ago.

“So you’re planning on leaving him like that until he collapses?” Natasha’s face hadn’t changed, but she was still looking right in Steve’s eyes, and her voice had gone very dry.

Steve’s face went red, and he set his jaw, but he didn’t actually say anything in response, until Natasha pulled a pack of capped syringes, held together with an elastic band, out of her pocket.

“No,” Steve said bluntly, and shifted to put himself between Nat and Bucky.

Sam had to stand quickly and shift sideways to avoid Steve backing into him.

“Look at him. He’s suffering,” said Natasha frigidly, “for God’s sake Steve. How long has it been since he’s slept?”

Steve totally deflated, which Sam had never seen him do before and hoped to never see him do again. “About three days,” he admitted.

Natasha just kept looking at him, cool, and perfectly still.

Steve squirmed under her gaze, “I don’t - I don’t want to make him -“, he attempted to explain, “I’m not - I can’t.”

Then he turned to look at Sam.

 

Sam just about turned and left. This was exactly the sort of impasse he’d been worried about since Bucky had showed up ill and disoriented, and he was, just about literally, standing in the middle of it. He just wanted to go away and make someone else deal with it. Giving Bucky sedatives with no one’s permission but Natasha’s was a dodgy thing to do and it set a bad precedent. He knew that, and it had nothing to do with Steve’s worn out attempt at his usual Captain America stare. But he also knew not treating someone who hadn’t slept in seventy-two hours was just cruel, and in a real hospital, he’d get sedatives. But he _also_ he really didn’t want to fight with Steve about it.

Steve was still looking at him. Natasha had turned to look too.

“He really needs to get some sleep Steve,” Sam said, finally.

Steve stared at him, it was kind of pleading now, like he was waiting for Sam to say something more, or something better. But Sam couldn’t think of anything to add that wouldn’t make things worse.

Natasha had stopped looking at either of them. She stared down at Bucky for a moment with her palms resting flat on her thighs.

“Its time to sleep now,” she said clearly, and a little louder than she had been, “stand up.”

Bucky stood up shakily and Nat put a hand under his arm to keep him steady, or maybe just to pull him back towards the bedroom, Sam couldn’t really tell.

Steve trailed after them with his face screwed up, and Sam trailed after him, so he wouldn’t be left standing by himself in the living room.

 

Natasha sat Bucky on the edge of the bed and he looked through her, slack and unfocused, while she pulled a bundle of capped syringes out of her pocket and uncapped one.

“This will sting and then you’ll go to sleep,” Natasha said to him.

He didn’t answer..

Steve cringed when Natasha pulled the syringe, and again when she uncapped it. And he grimaced as Natasha slid the needle into the crook of Bucky’s elbow and depressed the plunger. Bucky didn’t even twitch.

Whatever had been in that syringe must have been designed for elephants, because by the time Natasha had disposed of the syringe Bucky was slumping forward, already half asleep.

Steve practically hip-checked Natasha out of the way as he rushed over to loop an arm around Bucky’s chest and slide him backwards into bed.

Natasha just twisted gracefully out of the way and said matter-of-factly, “I’m going to leave the rest of these here. They’ll be in the bathroom cabinet in case you need them.”

“Please go away now,” said Steve. He was still kneeling next to Bucky, smoothing the blankets around him over and over.

Sam momentarily froze. He’d had some idea when they’d walked in that the visit was going to end in an argument and he’d been prepared for that. But he’d expected Steve to shout for some reason. He wasn’t ready to handle the sad little whisper that he actually got.

Natasha very pointedly completed her trip to the bathroom cabinet. When she came back and headed towards the door, Sam trailed after her, not sure what else there was to say.

 

Natasha got into the driver’s seat of Sam’s car without comment, and drove him home without being asked. Sam went inside, sat down on the couch, and then tipped over under a sudden wave of exhaustion. He might have dozed off, lying there sideways with his shoes still on, because he didn’t move until someone knocked on the door and he had to get up and answer it.

 

Natasha was standing in his doorway carrying a huge paper bag that smelled like take-out.

“I brought you food,” she said shortly, and shouldered her way inside to set it on the counter.And then she took each styrofoam and cardboard carton out and set them in a neat row on the counter’s edge with her back to him.And then she took all the lids of and placed them behind the dishes. There were a tremendous number of dishes, far more than the two of them could possibly eat.

“I’m sorry,” she said, when she finally turned around.“I’m not very good at this.”

Sam flashed Natasha a smile, which felt only a little tighter than he meant it to, and got two plates and two glasses. Natasha traded him a plate for a pair of disposable chopsticks, but she still wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“Thanks for the food,” Sam said, when they were sitting down. Across from each other at the table this time, “but, please don’t do that again.”

Natasha had the good grace to not make a joke.

“I thought he would listen to you,” she admitted, “I mean, I knew it was going to be - that he was going to be difficult. But I really thought it would help to have you there.”

“Well I don’t think I have as many super powers as you’re giving me credit for,” said Sam.

“I’m sorry,” said Natasha, “I can go, if you’d prefer.”

“No, stay, I like the company,” said Sam. “I’m not mad at you.”

Natasha gave him a look over her chopsticks full of noodles.

“Okay, I am pissed off you got me stuck in the middle of that. But we’re okay, you know, in general. I don’t think you did it for fun or anything. You apologized. I’ll get over it, just don’t do it again,” said Sam.

“Do you think Steve will get over it?” Natasha asked.

Sam suddenly had to eat a dumpling very urgently.

“Based on experience,” he said, when he’d run out of dumpling, “probably, eventually. But I get why you’re worried -“

“Don’t do that,” Natasha cut him off, “stop helping me, I’m trying to help you. And don’t tell me you hadn’t noticed. I’m not _that_ bad at this.”

“Yeah, I did,” Sam admitted, “and I’m scared Steve won’t get over it too, and I’m not use to this stuff following me home, and I’m really tired.”

“Tell me we did the right thing,” Natasha said suddenly. Her face looked open. Sam had seen the expression she had on her face only once before, when he’d walked in on her talking to Steve to offer them breakfast, and only for a fraction of a second, before she seen him and stopped.

Sam thought about telling her just that, but didn’t seem fair. Not fair to Natasha to answer honesty with half-truths, especially when it obviously didn’t come easily to her, and not fair to him to be the only one having to maintain the lie that everything was fine.

“I think we did the best we could.”

Natasha came around the table and gave him a hug, carefully, with one hand wrapped around the base of his neck, like she was much bigger than she was and had to be gentle.

 

Then Sam’s phone started to buzz insistently against the table until he had to pick it up, “Hi, Mom, I’m sorry there’s someone else here I just need a moment, I promise I won’t hang up.”

He set the phone down and Natasha disentangled herself from him, “I’m assuming you need to take that,” she said.

“I’ve been missing her calls for weeks, she’s going to devour me alive. Which I deserve,” Sam explained.

“Well, I’ll just see myself out,” Natasha said, “I have some people to call too.”

“I never asked,” Sam said, “do you have parents to call?”

Natasha stayed silent as she collected her bag and put her shoes on, and said, with one hand on the doorknob, just before she left, “I actually don’t know.”


	14. Waking Up

Sam and Natasha walked out past him, and Steve heard them leave, and he just - stayed - watching Bucky, and waiting for something, anything to happen.

 

But nothing did.

 

After the first hour, Bucky was still unmoving, stretched across the bed in the sedated sprawl Steve had settled him in. It didn’t look right, but it took Steve a few minutes of just watching him to put his finger on why.

Bucky didn’t sleep like that, he never had. So he didn’t look comfortable stretched out on his back, he just looked drugged.

“Sorry Buck,” Steve whispered.

He slid a hand carefully under Bucky’s shoulder and tipped him over so he was lying a bit more naturally on his side, and then, once he’d got started, carefully rearranged his limbs so they were tucked against his body and he looked comfortable. And then readjusted the blankets so they were wrapped securely around his shoulders.

“There you go,” he murmured, while he smoothed Bucky’s hair back from where it had fallen across his face, “that’s better, isn’t it?”

Bucky didn’t even twitch.

 

It was starting to get late by then, and Steve had sat up with Bucky the night before, and the night before that. He went and laid down on his bed and covered himself in the blanket, much less carefully than he had Bucky. Even though his eyes were starting to ache, they also seemed to have been wired to springs, and wouldn’t close. He got back up and checked on Bucky, found him still sleeping soundly, and went back to lie down. Then did that two more times.

After the third time, he admitted to himself that he was not going to be able to sleep and made himself coffee. It didn’t do much for him any more, but the smell still made him feel more energized somehow, even if it was all in his head. Sitting in Bucky’s room, where he could see him, and make sure that he wasn’t uncomfortable, or trapped in a nightmare, or reacting to the drugs somehow made him feel at least a bit better. And if he was going to be awake and exhausted, at least he didn’t have to be so anxious.

Bucky was quiet, and very still, much moreso than usual. Steve tried to look up on his phone if people were supposed to lie so still when they’d been sedated, or tranquilized, or, whatever it was Natasha had done. But he hadn’t thought to ask what the drug had been, and couldn’t figure out what to google without it. He prodded at for a while, and went to text Sam and ask him, and then realized he couldn’t. He’d just thrown Sam and Natasha out of his house, and he didn’t know if they’d come back. He wasn’t even sure if he would want them back if they offered. He was sure he wouldn’t have this problem if they’d left things alone, even though just thinking that he could tell that it was a petty, childish thought, and he was ashamed of himself. Steve put his phone down, and rested his hand on Bucky’s arm through the blankets.

“Its gonna be fine,” he said, “we’ll be fine. We’ve always managed by ourselves before, right?”

But Bucky didn’t respond to that either.

 

Bucky slept for eight hours and came awake agonizingly slowly, stirring and fluttering his eyes, only to sink back to sleep a moment later again and again. Eventually he seemed to really wake up and just rolled onto his back looking around aimlessly. Like keeping his eyes open had already tired him out, or, more likely, Steve thought somewhat bitterly, like he was still fighting whatever sludge Natasha had shot him full of.

Steve levered himself out of the chair he’d been sitting in for the past three hours, and came and knelt next to him.

“Hey Buck,” he murmured, “how’re you feeling? Did you have a good sleep?”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but he turned towards Steve’s voice, and did seem to be looking at him. The scary, vacant, glassy stare from the day before had gone away.

The clock had just edged past four in the morning, too early to really get up. But Bucky didn’t show any signs of settling back to sleep. He just kept staring at the ceiling looking increasingly confused.

“Why don’t you sit up a bit?” Steve suggested, and, when Bucky couldn’t seem to muster the coordination to do that, he gently pulled him upright, and propped him agains the headboard so he could look around and get his bearings.

Steve took a step back and tried to let Bucky alone so he could finish waking up, or fall back to sleep, or whatever he wanted to do, but Bucky didn’t really seem to be doing either, just lying half-slumped against the pillows and tracking wobbly circles around the room with his eyes that, every once in a while, wavered over Steve’s face. He didn’t seem upset, he wasn’t teary anymore, just - quiet and not quite all there yet.

 

Steve managed to give Bucky fifteen minutes before he gave in came to kneel next to him again. He picked Bucky’s hand up from where it was resting on the covers, and held it carefully in both of his, sweeping his thumb carefully back and forth across Bucky’s knuckles. Bucky’s skin was warm from being wrapped up in blankets and his palm was more callused than Steve remembered it being, the last chance he’d had to hold it. Bucky looked over at him mildly. He didn’t move his hand away, or take Steve’s in return, but, he was looking, making eye contact. Steve froze for a second, afraid to break the moment.

“Think you can get up,” Steve whispered, “let’s just take things really easy today okay? We’ll go really slowly.”

Bucky seemed willing enough to let Steve coax him out of bed and take him to the bathroom and wash his face. He still looked out of it, peering around like the house was unfamiliar, with a little frown line slowly forming between his brows that Steve wanted to reach over and rub away. But he wasn’t shaking, or pulling away while Steve led him around, which was an improvement, in its own depressing way.

Steve deposited him into a chair in the kitchen so he could still see him while he made tea and breakfast. Bucky was still looking around aimlessly, sometimes tracking Steve around the kitchen, sometimes not. He accepted the cup of tea, but Steve couldn’t get him interested in food. Yesterday, he’d been so overwhelmed by how unresponsive Bucky had been, and then by Sam and Nat that he hadn’t had time to worry that Bucky had barely eaten, today he was too exhausted to convince Bucky to eat when he obviously didn’t want to. But not eating was eventually going to mean a hospital, and more people trying to do thing to Bucky that he didn’t want and he didn’t know who to call or what to do or -

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, and barely audible.

Steve started at the sound, and slid down to the floor in front of Bucky, and looked up into his eyes.

Bucky looked back at him, his eyelashes fluttering a little, like he’d only just woken up but he was looking at him. And he recognized him.

“Steve?” he asked again.

“I’m here,” Steve said, “I’m right here.”

“Steve I don’t - I don’t remember -“ Bucky cut himself off, his eyes were getting wide and frightened, “I don’t remember.”

“Bucky, its alright, its going to be okay,” Steve soothed, “you’ve been, you’ve been really sick. You’re getting better now. It’s going to be better.”

Steve reached up to take Bucky’s hands, but Bucky whined with terror and pulled them back, and then froze and looked down at Steve in total horror, “I don’t why I did that.”

“It’ll be okay,” Steve said again, “everything’s going to be okay. Don’t worry about it. Are you, in pain? Do you feel okay?”

Bucky slumped abruptly out of the tense line he’d drawn himself into, “I’m tired.”

“Are you hungry at all? Do you think you can eat?” Steve said.

“I’m tired,” Bucky repeated, with a touch more emphasis.

“Okay,” Steve said, pushing himself up and holding out one hand, “you can rest. Come rest now.”

Bucky let Steve help him up, and just, tipped over against him, half closing his eyes and letting Steve hold him up and guide him back to bed. By the time Steve had lowered him onto the bed he was just barely awake enough to curl up into the pillows before he passed out again. Like the effort of being awake for half an hour had been too much for him.

Steve just stood there for a while, smoothing Bucky’s hair and stroking his back. Bucky’s eyes were flickering madly under his closed lids, and he shifted occasionally under Steve’s hands, unlike the eerie drugged stillness from earlier. He settled down to just wait for a while, just to make sure Bucky didn’t have a nightmare -

And then started upright suddenly, and realized he’d dozed off and started to tip forward where he was sitting. Suddenly, like dozing off for a fraction of a second had unstopped some sort of dam in his head, he was crushingly, overwhelmingly exhausted. So much so that picking himself up off the floor to go lie down seemed like a colossal effort. He slumped across the bed for a minute, with one arm draped around Bucky, and his head resting against Bucky’s arm. 

“Sorry Buck,” Steve mumbled, “I gotta sleep too. I won’t go far, promise.”

Bucky curled towards the contact just a little, but he didn’t rouse when Steve levered himself up against the headboard and staggered off to collapse into his own bed.

 


	15. Apologies... again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not dead!
> 
> Seriously, writer's block is The Worst.

Steve jerked awake sometime mid-morning out of a dream he couldn’t remember as soon as he had his eyes open, and stayed awake just long enough to register that the sun was up and shining into his eyes through the window before he rolled over and fell back to sleep for another two hours.

He woke up more slowly the second time, first registering the light through his closed lids, rolling onto his back and slowly blinking them open, noting how dry his mouth felt, but not yet quite awake enough to feel like doing anything about it. His eyes still felt vaguely gritty, like he hadn’t quite slept enough, he’d spent all last night watching Bucky… Bucky.

Suddenly alert, Steve rolled out of bed and went to find Bucky. It was past nine in the morning and Steve expected him to be awake already, but wasn’t sure if he’d find him still lying in bed waiting to be got up, or if he’d still be as lucid as he’d been last night, and might be up already, and wondering where Steve had gone. When he found Bucky still soundly asleep, it made a weird twist in his stomach. Like his body wasn’t sure if he was relieved or upset. Of course, his mind wasn’t sure either.

Bucky still seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but the bedsheets were tangled from tossing and turning. His eyes were still flickering, but his face was relaxed and he didn’t react when Steve brushed his hair out of his face to get a good look at him, or when he straightened out the sheets and tucked him securely back into the blankets. And he tried to tell himself that it was good that Bucky was calm and comfortable. That he was resting. He’d been trying to get him to rest for days. But he actually just anxious and wanted Bucky to wake back up and talk to him again.

Steve would have stayed and watched over Bucky, but his stomach suddenly gurgled sharply. He’d been too preoccupied trying to get Bucky to eat earlier, to eat himself. He made himself eggs, and and ate them in the kitchen, and then put the house back in order. Bucky kept sleeping. He got his phone to call Sam, remembered that he wasn’t sure if he could phone Sam still, and put it back down. Bucky kept sleeping.

By noon, seeing Bucky sleeping quietly had stopped being reassuring. It had been eight hours since Bucky had had any water or anything and he’d been out for eight hours before that, and he’d only been up for a few minutes in between, and Steve didn’t know if that was okay, or if Bucky needed help and was too ill to tell him and what if he got worse again and he didn’t have anyone else he could ask for help.

Except, that wasn’t actually true. There was someone else he could call. Steve suddenly had to fight down a wave of embarrassment. He could call Pepper Potts, in New York, where Doctor Banner was. Ms. Potts had emailed him three days ago. How had he forgotten to respond to that?

It wasn’t really a difficult question. He’d been exhausted, and skipping meals and too consumed with terror over having Bucky barely responsive and trembling on his couch to deal with anything else. It was still embarrassing.

 

Steve checked one more time to make sure Bucky was comfortable, or at least, that there was nothing he could do for him, and retreated back into his room so he could call New York without disturbing him.

Stark’s AI answered the phone, because of course he did.

“Captain Rogers, I am delighted to hear from you, is there someone specific you would like to speak to? I know Sir and Ms Potts have both been somewhat anxious to get you on the phone.”

Tony might have been anxious to talk to him, but Steve was, if anything, anxious not to talk to Tony, even if he did still owe Ms Potts a phone call.

“Hi, um, JARVIS,” Steve thought that was the right name, “actually, can I talk to Dr. Banner. I mean, is he around? Is that, okay?”

“Certainly Captain,” JARVIS said smoothly, there was a click as the call transferred.

“Steve, hello,” said Dr. Banner in his usual murmur, “what can I do for you?”

“I need help,” Steve said, “I mean, Bucky - he was better, but, no, I mean -“ Steve started.

“Why don’t you take a breath, and try that again,” Dr. Banner suggested.

Steve sucked in a breath, as suggested, and gasped it out again.

“I think I need help. With a medical question,” he said, slowly.

Banner sighed softly before he answered, “well, first I’ll add you to the list of people who’ve forgotten I’m not an MD, but talk me through it and I’ll do my best.”

“Its Bucky,” Steve started, “I found him, well, he found me I guess, but he hasn’t been doing so good, I mean, he was sick at first, but he seemed better, but not - I mean he wasn’t sick anymore but he still wasn’t - wasn’t better. And he couldn’t sleep - I mean, he hadn’t been, and Natasha gave him some stuff and I told her not to and I don’t know what it was and I didn’t want her to but she did and he slept for a while and he woke up and he was better - I mean, not better, but he knew me and now he’s been asleep again for hours but its - its different and I don’t know if he’s okay.”

There was a long pause before Banner answered him, “well, I think I followed most of that.”

Steve started trying to work out a second explanation, but Bruce made shushing sounds until he stopped.

“Just let me get my timeline sorted out,” Bruce said, “you said James was having some insomnia, Natasha gave him some medication, and he was more lucid when he  
woke up after that? Is that what you meant by better?”

Steve nodded along, then realized, as the silence stretched out, that Bruce of course, couldn’t see that, and said, “yeah. Um, yeah he knew me when he woke up. But he’s not - I mean, he’s mostly been asleep since.”

“Well, he could be tired,” Bruce said mildly.

Steve opened his mouth to say something offensive, but it it just came out as a sound like, “uhh”.

“Did that sound flippant?” Bruce asked. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t supposed to be flippant. But most people underestimate how much sleep it takes to recover from being sleep deprived. But I really don’t know. I mean, we’re talking about an enhanced person, who I haven’t met and can’t see. Sleep is also associated with memory formation. This could very well be a sign his brain is recovering.”

“You think so?” Steve cut in.

“I have no idea,” said Bruce, a bit shortly, “it could just as easily be a sign something’s wrong. I have no way of telling. You need to come to New York and talk to an actual doctor. Which, I’ll remind you, I am not.”

“Oh,” said Steve, softly. “I’ll - I’ll think about that.”

He thought he heard Bruce sigh at him, but it was quiet enough that he couldn’t be sure. When Bruce spoke again it sounded conversational enough that he might have imagined it, “well, I’m sorry I couldn’t be of more help. But I know Pepper wanted to talk to you. I think she’s around right now. I can get JARVIS to put her on if you’d like?”

Steve was still stuck half way between processing ‘could be fine’ and ‘could be something horribly wrong’ and he didn’t actually want to talk to anyone at all. But replying to Pepper had been half the reason why he’d called, “um, yeah, okay,” he said, against his better judgement.

Bruce didn’t actually have to say anything, there was just a click as the call transferred.

“Hello Steve,” said Pepper warmly, a second later, before he had time to hang up, “its really nice to hear from you.”

“Ms Potts,” said Steve, “hello. I was just calling to thank you for the - for the things. It was very generous of you.”

“Oh you’re perfectly welcome, it was no trouble,” said Pepper, “how are you both managing?”

“Things are a bit better,” Steve said, “I mean, I think they are.”

“I’m really glad to hear that,” said Pepper, “I’m not going to keep you, because I haven’t got long myself, I just wanted to know you were alright. But promise me you’ll  
call if you need anything else, okay?”

“That’s really, I mean, you don’t need to do that,” said Steve. Then he took a deep breath, “Bruce said he thought Bucky might do better in New York.”

“We’d be happy to have you,” Pepper said, shedding some of her cool, polite, professional voice and sounding more enthusiastic, “you just let me know and we’ll work out the logistics.”

“Thank you,” said Steve, “I need to make some other calls and -“

There was a soft shuffling sound coming from the other room, “I’m sorry I need to go,” Steve said, and didn’t give Pepper a chance to finish her good-byes before he hung up.

 

Bucky had woken up, and worked his way into a sitting position by the time Steve got into his room.

“Steve?” he asked quietly, when Steve slipped around the door.

“Hey Bucky,” said Steve, kneeling down by the bed, “how’re you doing.”

Bucky frowned, “I don’t feel right,” he mumbled.

“Are you in pain?” Steve asked, “what do you need.”

Bucky shook his head, “No, I feel - not right,” he trailed off again.

He obviously couldn’t explain what he needed. Steve kept trying.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, “you haven’t eaten in a bit.”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said.

“Do you think you could eat something?” Steve asked.

Bucky nodded.

“Lets try that,” Steve suggested.

 

Bucky let himself be led into the kitchen, and he didn’t look especially enthusiastic about it, but he did eat, which was a relief.

“Still feeling funny?” Steve asked him, when he’d finished.

Bucky shook his head. He still looked groggy, like he’d still not quite woken up. His hair was falling across his face, and Steve wondered if he should push it back for him. But he didn’t.

“That’s good,” he said, instead.

He sat there, for a minute, looking at Bucky, who had gone back to looking at nothing in particular somewhere in the middle distance.

“Bucky,” he started, and then waited until Bucky was looking at him before he kept going, “Do you want to move back to New York?”

Bucky blinked sluggishly at him for a moment before he asked, “where are we now?”

“We’re in DC,” Steve said, as neutrally as he could manage, which wasn’t very, “in Washington.”

“Oh,” said Bucky, “did you tell me that before?”

“Yeah,” Steve admitted.

“Oh,” Bucky said again, with no particular emotion, “but we lived in New York before?”

“That’s right,” said Steve, “we wouldn’t be living in the same place though. It’ll be - a bit different from what you remember.”

Bucky shook his head, “I don’t -“ he started, and trailed off, looking away from Steve.

Steve edged his chair forward so he was sitting level with Bucky, “that’s okay,” he said. He didn’t sound very confident, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him, and he seemed to get away with it, because Bucky tipped over to lean against him.

“I don’t know why I’m so tired,” Bucky mumbled into the side of his chest.

Steve wrapped his arm around Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky didn’t pull away.

“You haven’t been sleeping so great,” Steve admitted, “you need to catch up now.”

Bucky nodded and gradually went limp against Steve’s side. Steve shifted so that he was holding him a bit more securely, hesitated, and then pulled Bucky sideways into his lap. Bucky didn’t stir. He was a warm, solid weight against Steve’s chest and it was very soothing to finally be able to hang on to him. And cuddling Bucky meant he could put off the apologies he had to go make.

But once he’d had that thought, he couldn’t unthink it.

“Sorry Buck,” he mumbled.

He slid his arm under Bucky’s legs and stood up holding him. Bucky slept through being carried back to bed but roused bit when Steve let go of him, which made Steve need to suppress a weird flash a satisfaction.

“Were we going somewhere?” Bucky mumbled, with his eyes only half open.

He sounded half awake at best, but his Brooklyn accent had come back. Steve hadn’t even noticed that it had been missing until then.

Steve watched him fall back to sleep without answering. Then he went to call Pepper back, because of all the things he had to do now, it was going to be the least awful.

JARVIS picked up again, but Pepper took the call nearly instantly. Steve had a sinking feeling she’d been waiting for him.

“Is everything alright?” Pepper asked, by way of a greeting.

“Uh,” Steve started, “we’re doing okay.” Then he sat there trying to work up the courage to ask a favour.

“I um,” Steve said, “I talked to Bucky about coming to New York. He seemed okay with it.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Pepper, before he could even finish the question, “would it be easier to come up by car, or would you prefer to fly?”

“Um,” said Steve, intelligently.

“Take as long as you need,” said Pepper, “Stark Industries moves people around the country every day, its very simple for me to set this up. We already have space for you here in the Tower, you can just let me know when and where, and pack a few days worth of clothes, and I can just have everything else shipped for you.”

“I guess, um,” Steve started, “I think it might be easier to fly? Maybe?”

“I’ll organize for a plane at Reagan,” said Pepper, “and I’ll have someone pick you up. Can you manage Sunday morning, or do you need a little longer, because the airstrip we usually use should be quiet then.”

“I, um, I think that’ll be okay,” Steve mumbled, although he didn’t really know.

“Okay, that sounds wonderful,” said Pepper, soothingly, “its a private plane, you’ll get driven straight out to it, and then Happy will pick you up in New York, and the whole thing will only take a couple of hours.”

Steve found himself nodding along with her, even though she couldn’t see him and it was ridiculous, “that sounds - that sounds good.” He said, finally.  
“Wonderful,” said Pepper, with her crisp, CEO voice again, “I’ll see you on Sunday.”

Steve spent a minute looking at the phone in a vague state of bafflement. It wasn’t like he hadn’t phoned to try and set up exactly that trip, but somehow the whole thing had still just seemed to have happened without him. And that was the easy phone call.

 

Sam didn’t sound annoyed when he answered.

“Hey man,” he said, “how’s things?”

“We’re, um, we’re doing better here actually,” Steve started.

“Well that’s good to hear,” said Sam, and then just let the conversation hang while Steve got his nerve back up.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said, after more false starts than he’d admit to if asked, “I made a real ass of myself the other day. You were helping and I threw a tantrum.”

“Well I’m not going to disagree,” said Sam, “but I forgive you.”

“Can I, I don’t know, make it up to you, somehow,” Steve asked, without being really sure how that would really work.

“I’ll spot you this one,” Sam said, with a little half-chuckle, “I figure everyone’s entitled to one freakout. Its when you make a habit of it that it gets to be a problem.”

“Thanks,” said Steve, “I’m really sorry. No more freakouts, I promise,” he paused, tried to find some way to change the topic that was even a little bit graceful, failed and said “we’re going to New York. To stay with Tony. On Sunday. Pepper sorted it all out.”

“She’s really something,” Sam said amicably.

“She really is,” Steve agreed.

“And she’s smarter than you super-types,” Sam added, “it’ll be good for you I think.”

“Us super-types,” said Steve, “you’re not getting off that easy.”


End file.
